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In fact, that's why I subjected myself to the ordeal of breakfasting with you. It's none of my business, as you so kindly put it, but shall I suggest something?" "Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know what you'll say." "No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world that you don't really enjoy yourself isn't that so?"
"Are you dining here?" inquired Kerns, pushing the electric button with enthusiasm. "Well, that's the first glimmer of common sense you've betrayed since you've been married!" "Dining here!" repeated Gatewood. "I should hope not! I am just going home " "He's thoroughly cowed," commented Kerns; "every married man you meet at the club is just going home."
"No," he replied, startled; then, vexed, "I beg your pardon you mean to ask if she is married!" "Oh, I didn't mean you, Mr. Gatewood; it's the next question, you see" she held out the blank toward him. "Is the person you are looking for married?"
Called to see Gatewood, the first man on the list of cutthroats. He was from home. Saw his wife, a handsome, young dejected-looking woman, who appeared very uneasy at her husband's being inquired for by a man almost as well armed and not much out of the style of Robinson Crusoe. Saw a bloody cravat on the end of the log of which his house was built.
"Because," continued the Tracer of Lost Persons, "I see little chance for him to do otherwise if I take up this case. Fate itself, in the shape of a young lady, is already on the way here in a railroad train." "Good! Good!" exclaimed Gatewood. "Don't let him escape, Mr. Keen! I beg of you to take up his case! I urge you most seriously to do so. Mr.
"I look to you to return him. Stir yourself, Gatewood, or by God, I'll hold so fierce a reckoning with you " The sentence remained unfinished, for Fentress felt his overwrought nerves snap, and giving way to a sudden blind fury struck at the judge. "We are too old for rough and tumble," said the judge, who had displayed astonishing agility in avoiding the blow. "Furthermore we were once gentlemen.
Jeff Gatewood was a "guerrilla" chief of local notoriety, who was a greater terror to his friends than to his other foes. My guards related almost incredible tales of his cruelties and infamies. By their account it was into his camp that I had blundered on Sunday night. We put up for the night at a farmhouse, having gone not more than fifteen miles, owing to the condition of my feet.
Gatewood smiled. "If," he said, "you will undertake to find the person I cannot find, I must ask you to accept a retainer." "We don't require retainers," replied Keen. "Unless we find the person sought for, we make no charges, Mr. Gatewood." "I must ask you to do so in my case. It is not fair that you should undertake it on other terms. I desire to make a special arrangement with you.
Meanwhile, Gatewood was walking along Fifth Avenue, more or less soothed by the May sunshine. First, he went to his hatters, looked at straw hats, didn't like them, protested, and bought one, wishing he had strength of mind enough to wear it home. But he hadn't.
"Yes," he said, "I am." "Is she in love with you?" "No; she hates me I'm afraid." "Is she in love with anybody?" "That is a very difficult " The girl wrote: "He doesn't know," with a satisfaction apparently causeless. "Is she a relative of yours, Mr. Gatewood?" very sweetly. "No, Miss Southerland," very positively. "You you desire to marry her you say?" "I do. But I didn't say it."
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