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Updated: May 3, 2025
"He says he used to cook," put in a small, alert, nervous, rather flashily dressed individual named Rowlee, editor of the Bugle. "I did!" stoutly asseverated Webb. "And that he baked a loaf of bread so hard nobody could eat it." "Sounds perfectly reasonable," said Sherwood. "And that nobody could break it," Rowlee went on. "I have no difficulty in believing that," said Sherwood judicially.
Nothing loath, he went over it again, making clear the double clouding of the titles. But Nan, being much alone, had the habit, shared with few women of that time, of reading the newspapers. She had followed Rowlee's campaign, and she had taken seriously the editor's diatribes, Rowlee had been talking for effect.
But little Rowlee was not satisfied. "I think we should take no chances," he stated. "How would it be to appoint a committee to 'company him and see that he gets back?" Keith's head was clear enough to realize with dismay that this brilliant idea was about to take. But Ben Sansome, seizing the situation, locked his arm firmly in Keith's. "I'll see personally that he gets back," said he.
"Here I've been talking to him for three hours," he exclaimed, "and never knew who he was, and all the time I had a letter of introduction to him!" This and a warm irresponsible glow of comradeship were the sole indications of the drinks he had had. Keith possessed a strong head. Some of the others were not so fortunate. Little Rowlee was frankly verging on drunkenness.
It was a shame, his leaving her all that afternoon, he reiterated; but she had no idea what giant strides he had made. He told her of the city, and he enumerated some of the acquaintances he had made Calhoun Bennett, Bert Taylor, Major Marmaduke Miles, Michael Rowlee, Judge Caldwell, and others. They had been most cordial to him, most kind; they had taken him in without delay.
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