“Shake!”
Madison Wayne hesitated—and then grasped his hand.
“Ef I had known this,” continued McGee, “I reckon I wouldn't have been so hard on Safie and so partikler. She's better than I took her for—havin' had you for a beau! You understand what I mean. You follow me—don't ye? I allus kinder wondered why she took me, but sens you've told me that YOU used to spark her, in your God-fearin' way, I reckon it kinder prepared her for ME. You understand? Now you come up, won't ye?”
“I will call some evening with my brother,” said Wayne embarrassedly.
“With which?” demanded McGee.
“My brother Arthur. We usually spend the evenings together.”
McGee paused, leaned against the doorpost, and, fixing his clear eyes on Wayne, said: “Ef it's all the same to you, I'd rather you did not bring him. You understand what I mean? You follow me; no other man but you and me. I ain't sayin' anything agin' your brother, but you see how it is, don't you? Just me and you.”
“Very well, I will come,” said Wayne gloomily. But as McGee backed out of the door, he followed him, hesitatingly. Then, with an effort he seemed to recover himself, and said almost harshly: “I ought to tell you another thing—that I have seen and spoken to Mrs. McGee since she came to the Bar. She fell into the water last week, and I swam out and dragged her ashore. We talked and spoke of the past.”
“She fell in,” echoed McGee.
Wayne hesitated; then a murky blush came into his face as he slowly repeated, “She FELL in.”