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Even could he have known his partner's intentions, they would, on this account, have caused him no uneasiness, however angry they would have made him, or however determined to break the partnership. Even though Newmark destroyed utterly the firm's profits for the remaining year and a half the notes had to run, he could not thereby ruin Orde's chances.
Guess not!" grumbled a tall, burly individual with a red face. Orde immediately walked directly to this man. "Am I bossing this drive, or am I not?" he demanded. The riverman growled something. SMACK! SMACK! sounded Orde's fists. The man, taken by surprise, went down in a heap, but immediately rebounded to his feet as though made of rubber.
On the other hand, she looked back with equal pleasure on the tanned, sturdy old man with the white hair and moustache, the clear eyes, and the innumerable lines of quaint good-humour about them. After they had thus covertly surveyed each other for a moment, the aforesaid lines about Orde's eyes deepened, his eyes twinkled with mischief, and he thrust forth his hand for the second time.
But Orde's mouth, could she have seen it, was set in grim lines, and his feet, could she have heard them, rang on the pavement with quite superfluous vigour. He turned to the left, and, without pause, walked some ten or twelve miles. The evening turned out very well, fortunately; Orde could not have stood much more. They had the parlour quite to themselves.
Bishop's direction. "You will have some breakfast with us?" she inquired. "No? A cup of coffee, at least?" She began to manipulate the coffee pot, without paying the slightest attention to Orde's disclaimer. The general puffed out his cheeks, and coughed a bit in embarrassment. "A good cup of coffee is never amiss to an old campaigner," he said to Orde. "It's as good as a full meal in a pinch.
"Hullo, Orde!" he greeted. "Hear you have a sure win of the tournament." "Sure win!" said Orde, puzzled, "What you talking about? You know I couldn't shoot against you fellows." "Well, your small boy told me you were going to win that rifle down at Bishop's, and give it to him." Orde's face clouded. "He's been talking nothing but rifle for a month," said he. "I'm going West in September.
He retired to his room under fire of Orde's good-natured raillery. Orde himself shut his door, the smile still on his lips. As he began removing his coat, however, the smile died. The week had been a busy one. Hardly had he exchanged a dozen words with his parents, for he had even been forced to eat his dinner and supper away from home.
Gerald's eyes were fixed amusedly on Orde. To Orde's surprise, he was almost immediately joined on the street by young Mr. Bishop, most correctly appointed. "Going anywhere in particular?" he inquired. "Let's go up the avenue, then. Everybody will be out." They turned up the great promenade, a tour of which was then, even more than now, considered obligatory on the gracefully idle.
"Then why this investment thirty years ahead?" "It's for Bobby," explained Orde simply. "A man likes to have his son continue on in his business. I can't do it here, but there I can. It would take fifty years to cut that pine, and that will give Bobby a steady income and a steady business." "Bobby will be well enough off, anyway. He won't have to go into business." Orde's brow puckered.
They were astonished, and looked the sorriest devils you can imagine. Orde's exhibition was pitiful indeed the support of his party weak and open to attack the debate on their part really poor.
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