In the evening of Kellock’s catastrophe, Philander Knox saw Ned Dingle, who was working in his garden at the time.
“Heard the latest?” he asked.
“The latest for me is that Mr. Trenchard will take me back if I like to come.”
“No, the latest for you is that Jordan Kellock’s lost his stroke.”
Ned dropped a packet of seeds.
“Has he, by God! That’s the best news I’ve heard for a good bit.”
“You’re glad, but you won’t be glad if you think over it.”
Knox explained the circumstances, and told the tale of Jordan’s failure.
“Poor devil,” said Ned. “I can’t say I’m sorry all the same. It won’t last. He’ll get it back, no doubt, and perhaps he’ll see now he can’t go playing fast and loose with people, same as he did, and not get a facer himself sometimes. I told him I wasn’t going to divorce my wife, and no doubt that’s bowled him over.”
“You’ve done very well so far, in my opinion,” declared Mr. Knox. “You’ve conducted the affair in a high-class way, and you and me know where we stand; but he don’t, and more does she.”