For minutes Mauney stood thoughtfully watching his retreating figure as, swinging into a long stride, he covered the first lap of his long walk to Lockwood. His big figure grew smaller and smaller and the valise dwindled to a little grey speck, but he never turned to look back and soon he was lost in a bend of the road.
Although Mauney disliked in McBratney, what he considered half-familiar references to the Creator, he distinctly admired his courage and did not hesitate to express his admiration next day at supper when the subject came up. Evidently Bard had called at the McBratney’s that afternoon on his way from Beulah.
“The old man’s all broke up,” he said. “Poor old chap. There he is right in the middle of the hayin’ with nobody to help him, and Dave walks right out an’ leaves him. He might ’a’ stayed till the first o’ August, anyway.”
“I guess Dave’s got it pretty bad, Dad,” William remarked as he spread a large chunk of butter over his bread. “Anybody that’ll start out an’ walk to Lockwood on a hot night, carrying a big grip, why, there’s somethin’ wrong with his brains. I never figured Dave’d be such a damned fool!”
Mauney looked up sharply at his brother.
“He isn’t a damned fool!” he said flushing. “I may not have any more use for religion than you have, Bill, but I admire any fellow who does what he thinks is right!”
“Is that so?” scoffed William, glaring across the table. “Well, now look here, freshie—”
Mauney, inflamed by the word, as well as by his brother’s sneering manner, jumped to his feet, and became the centre of attention.
“I refuse to be called ‘freshie’ by you,” he said with some effort at restraint, “and I have just enough sympathy with Dave McBratney that I’m not going to have you call him a damned fool, either!”