He paused and meditated, looking at the pulsating light; then brought his chair down and leaned forward.
“I take the liberty to disagree with you. I'm no exception to the run of men, and I'm neither a hound, nor a coward, nor a thief, nor yet a liar.”
“I know you're not.”
“However, your story, or Aidee's, is no business of mine. I gave you those inferences because they occurred to me. Naturally you'd suspect they would. So they do. Gabbling them abroad might make some trouble for Aidee, that's true. I shan't gabble them.”
“I know you won't.”
“I wanted your point of view in shooting Wood. If you don't see your way to give it, all right. I judge it was the same way you were going to club me with a chair. Simple enough and rather silly. Goodnight, then. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes.”
Hennion leaned back and studied the gaslight, and disliked himself. Hicks clasped and unclasped his hands on the table.
“It won't hurt him,” he said hoarsely, “between you and me. Besides, you can do that for me. He's my brother, old Al. But I cut away from him. I kept off. I kept away from him for a while, but I couldn't live without seeing him. You see? I couldn't do it. Then he came here, and I followed him, and I lived with a shoemaker across the river and cobbled shoes. But I heard every speech he made in Port Argent, though he never saw me. He thinks I'm dead, don't he? I dodged him pretty slick.” He flushed and smiled—“I liked it,” he whispered, growing excited. “It was better'n the old way, for we got along all right this way. You've heard of him! Ain't he wonderful? Ain't he a great one, hey? That was Al. I liked it, but he didn't know. You see? How'd he know when he thought I was dead, didn't he? I watched him, old Al!”
His face was lit up with the warm memory of it. He clicked his teeth, and swayed to and fro, smiling.