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Updated: June 28, 2025
"At Targai!" exclaimed Jim Airth, surprised into betraying his astonishment. Then at once recovering himself: "Ah, yes; of course. Seven months. I was there, you know." But, within himself, he was thinking rapidly, and much was becoming clear. Sergeant O'Mara! Was it possible? An exquisite refined woman such as this, bearing about her the unmistakable hall-mark of high birth and perfect breeding?
You got to learn to listen." He stepped forward, remembered and turned back into the cabin. There was womanish solicitude in the scrutiny he bent upon Garry Devereau's crookedly smiling face. "You and me was ordained to be friends," he declared oratorically, "because anybody that Steve O'Mara calls friend is good enough for me.
Nora must have guessed his errand, for her face noticeably hardened. 'I've seen Mrs. O'Mara, he blurted out, 'and she tells me that you've been seen walking with some man on the hillside in lonely places.... Don't deny it if it is true. 'I'm not going to deny anything that is true. How brave she was! Her courage attracted him and softened his heart. But everything was true, alas! Everything.
Young O'Mara was not hard to be persuaded. Perhaps it was that, unacknowledged by himself, any argument which recommended his staying, even for an hour longer than his first decision had announced, in the neighbourhood of Ellen Heathcote, appeared peculiarly cogent and convincing; however this may have been, it is certain that he followed the counsel of his cool-headed follower, who retired that night to bed with the pleasing conviction that he was likely soon to involve his young patron in all the intricacies of disguise and intrigue a consummation which would leave him totally at the mercy of the favoured confidant who should possess his secret.
Allison was smiling blandly, for Caleb's joke over his round-about methods was an old, old joke, when Stephen O'Mara spoke. "It's goin' to rain," said the boy. Allison turned toward him, his eyes again quizzical. "I suppose so," he admitted. "In the general course of things it'll come, no doubt, but " The boy interrupted him, shaking his head.
Finally he reached out a timid, blue-veined, pitifully unsteady hand and plucked at Steve's blue flannel sleeve. And his words were an echo of those which Stephen O'Mara had heard before that night from other lips. "Then you are you," he framed the words laboriously. "I wasn't sure even when I knew it must be." And Garry Devereau tried to smile his slow smile of sophistry.
"Don't flatter yourself that I haven't noted your covetous glances," she flashed. "I've been talking very fast, because I knew this interruption was coming. But we've finished, thank you, so I'll leave you to to bore him now!" She turned back toward O'Mara. "And thank you," she murmured not very audibly. "Thank you, more than I ever thanked anybody before in my life.
Stephen O'Mara was silent over the paper which Joe had handed him earlier in the evening, and the lack of any offer on his part to go into details did not trouble his questioner. Fat Joe sat and bobbed his head over what would never cease to be a miracle in his eyes. "And he'll stick this time," he vented his wonder aloud. "He's surely going to stick!" Then he smiled widely.
"Why, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember. May I ask your reason for speaking of it?" "No reason in particular," Caleb hesitated. "Only this O'Mara reminded me of something, too something that you said, that night at the camp-fire." "Well?" Allison's monosyllable was coolly noncommittal. "Can you remember what it was?" Caleb asked, positively uncomfortable now.
"Fat Joe has been preaching it for a month." Oddly enough, Stephen O'Mara chose that point at which to laugh, softly. "And I, for a month, have been ridiculing him. That's one of Fat Joe's pet diversions, you know. When all other excitement fails Joe invariably falls back upon an imagination too totally vivid to be wasted on technical things. I laughed at him, until last night.
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