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Updated: June 25, 2025
Its replica was carried to a castle in Scotland. It had been the gift of Diana Welldon on a certain day not long ago, when Flood Rawley had made a pledge to her, which was as vital to him and to his future as two thousand dollars were vital to Dan Welldon now.
Rawley had trusted to the inspiration of the moment; he had had no clearly defined plan; he had believed that he could frighten the old man, and by force of will bend him to his purposes. It had all been more difficult than he had expected. He kept cool, imperturbable, and determined, however.
Meanwhile Jansen made pilgrimage to the Springs of Healing, and at unexpected times Ingles suddenly appeared in the town, and stood at street corners; and in his "Patmian voice," as Flood Rawley the lawyer called it, warned the people to flee their sins, and purifying their hearts, learn to cure all ills of mind and body, the weaknesses of the sinful flesh and the "ancient evil" in their souls, by faith that saves.
I'd not pay up alone. The West would crack holy Heaven, I know enough to make it sick. Go on and see! I've got the West in my hand." He opened and shut his fingers with a grimace of cruelty which shook Rawley in spite of himself.
"It's got to be known sometime," he said, "and you'll be my lawyer when I'm put into the ground you're clever. They call me a quack. Malpractice bah! There's my diploma James Clifton Welldon. Right enough, isn't it?" Rawley was petrified.
Rawley asked rather sharply, his fingers running through his slightly grizzled, black hair, but not excitedly, for he wanted no scenes; and if this thing could hurt Di Welldon, and action was necessary, he must remain cool. What she was to him, Heaven and he only knew; what she had done for him, perhaps neither understood fully as yet.
I'd not pay up alone. The West would crack holy Heaven, I know enough to make it sick. Go on and see! I've got the West in my hand." He opened and shut his fingers with a grimace of cruelty which shook Rawley in spite of himself.
Rawley looked at the ominous-looking bottles on the shelves above the old man's head; at the forceps, knives, and other surgical instruments on the walls they at least were bright and clean and, taking the cheroot slowly from his mouth, he said: "Shin-plasters are what I want. A friend of mine has caught his leg in a trap."
Flood Rawley dropped the flaming match with which he was about to light a cheroot, and stood staring, his dark-blue eyes growing wider, his worn, handsome face becoming drawn, as swift conviction mastered him. He felt that the black words which had fallen from his friend's lips from the lips of Diana Welldon's brother were the truth.
It was lined with them. He passed a pile over to Rawley two thousand dollars. He placed a similar pile before himself. As Rawley laid his hand on the bills, the thought rushed through his mind, "You have it keep it!" but he put it away from him. With a gentleman he might have done it, with this man before him it was impossible.
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