“They’re not really in the world,” Appleby declared. “They’ve merely vegetated in that house of theirs, never going anywhere——”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Appleby,” and Genevieve shook her head, “Boston isn’t the only burg on the planet! They often go to New York, and that’s going some!”
“Not really often—I asked Wheeler. He hasn’t been for five or six years, and though Maida goes occasionally, to visit friends, she soon runs back home to her father.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Keefe said, “they’re by no means mossbacks or hayseeds. They’re right there with the goods, when it comes to modern literature or up-to-date news——”
“Oh, yes, they’re a highbrow bunch,” Appleby spoke impatiently; “but a recluse like that is no sort of a man! The truth is, I’m at the end of my patience! I’ve got to put this thing over with less palaver and circumlocution. I thought I’d give him a chance—just put the thing up to him squarely once—and, as he doesn’t see fit to meet me half-way, he’s got to be the loser, that’s all.”
“He seems to be the loser, as it is.” This from Keefe.
“But nothing to what’s coming to him! Why, the idea of my sparing him at all is ridiculous! If he doesn’t come down, he’s got to be wiped out! That’s what it amounts to!”
“Wiped out—how?”
“Figuratively and literally! Mentally, morally and physically! That’s how! I’ve stood all I can—I’ve waited long enough—too long—and now I’m going to play the game my own way! As I said, I played a trump card—I raised one pretty definite ruction just before we left. Now, that may do the business—and, it may not! If not, then desperate measures are necessary—and will be used!”
“Good gracious, Mr. Appleby!” Genevieve piped up from her fur collar which nearly muffled her little face. “You sound positively murderous!”