Jim climbed to the seat and extended his hand. Steve made no movement to take it.
“I’m more obliged to you than I can say,” Jim said.
“G’-by,” Steve said, briefly, and, turning his back, strode out of sight among the scrub-oak and jack-pine.
The horse Jim drove was not intended by nature to travel rapidly from place to place. He possessed two paces, one a studious walk, the other a self-satisfied trot that was a negligible acceleration of movement. So it was dusk when Jim reached Diversity. Slow as the progress was, it did not give Jim time to cool down from the boiling-point he had reached; instead, it irritated him, brought him where explosion was inevitable.
He returned his horse to the barn and started down the street toward the mill, forgetful that he had eaten nothing but Steve’s snack since breakfast. As he passed the hotel he saw Moran on the piazza—Moran, who had taken a train yesterday to the city.
Jim stopped, gripped his temper with both hands, as it were, to hold it in check, and spoke.
“You’re back soon,” he said.
“Didn’t get to the city at all. Wire met me halfway and called me back.”
“That’s good,” said Jim, with another of his sudden resolutions. “I’m glad you’re here. Can you walk down to the mill with me? I want to show you something.”
“Glad to,” said Moran, rising.