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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Tony, old son," said Robin, "I won't lunch with you even to set the board in a roar at your aunt's luncheon-party. But I'll walk up to Mart's with you, for I'm going there myself ..." They entered Mart's together and parted in the vestibule, where Tony gravely informed his "dear old scream" that he must fly to his "avuncular luncheon."
Neither must I forget that there was another thing to lend her comb, in order that Mart's wonderful yellow hair might be for once reduced to something like order. And at the risk of leading you to think that Sallie was altogether too "aesthetic" for her position in life, I shall have to confess that this was her hardest bit of sacrifice; her comb was so new and so pretty!
It being evident that it would take a fight to get Dorgan, Walt Lampson stepped back and Mart Cooley took his place. "Mart's a bad hombre, boss," Bill Jordan whispered to Mr. Sherwood. "You ain't got no call t' get killed. You better get out o' this." "Are you going to get out, Bill?" Mr. Sherwood asked, and Bill grinned.
"Ten minutes or so," she said. "Just so," agreed Munn. "Brenner, when did you come in?" A trace of Mart's sullenness rose in his face. "I told you that once," he said. "I mean how long after Tobey?" "I dunno," said Mart. "How long, Mrs. Brenner?" She hesitated again. She scented a trap. "Oh, 'bout ten to fifteen minutes, I guess," she said. Suddenly she burst out passionately.
She spoke sharp words out of the bitterness of her heart at Dirk, and of late rarely anything but sharp words, yet and this was Mart's secret, hidden away as if it were something of which to be ashamed she loved Dirk, loved him fiercely, with all the pent-up wealth of her young heart; and often, because she loved him, she was harsh and bitter towards him, though she did not herself understand why this should be.
The elder Haney interested and amused her in spite of her perplexities he was so quaintly of the old type of Irishman and so absurdly small to be the father of a giant. He carried a shrewd and kindly face, withered and toothless, yet not without a certain charm of line. Mart's fine profile was like his sire's, only larger, bolder, and calmer. With a chuckle he introduced him.
There was something in the sick woman's gaze which awed her, and she was careful not to be left alone with her. The thought of her suffering and its effect on Ben threw a dark shadow over the brightness of her world. She was filled, also, with a growing uneasiness by reason of Mart's change of attitude towards herself.
The manager showed the facts, and the other men were satisfied that things were about as he showed. They had been long in his employ, and Mart but a short time. The manager addressed himself to the old men, rather ignoring the new, and Mart's tongue and temper got away with him. He said he'd strike anyhow, and he did. He struck his own name off the company's books.
She had never quite given up her unreasoning hope that some day some one might come to the house in one of Mart's long, unexplained absences and sit down and talk with her over a cup of tea. She put away the feeble hope again as she turned back into the dim room and closed the door behind her. "Must have been that bit of wind," she meditated. "It plays queer tricks sometimes"
The mother was asleep, but on her face was a strange change a something that he had never seen there before, worn and sunken as it always was. It made him understand Mart's fears. "I'll go," he said huskily, and rushed from the house. "Her" carriage was just rolling down the avenue as his swift feet cleared the alley. He knew the horses.
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