“Will I—what the hell’s the matter, Willard?” Spink dropped his rag and stared.
“I’m not coming. I never meant to.”
The young men exchanged a long look.
“It’s no time to leave Mr. Blandhorn—a day like this,” Willard continued, moistening his dry lips.
Spink shrugged, and sounded a faint whistle. “Queer—!”
“What’s queer?”
“He said just the same thing to me about you—wanted to get you out of Eloued on account of the goings on today. He said you’d been rather worked up lately about religious matters, and might do something rash that would get you both into trouble.”
“Ah—” Willard murmured.
“And I believe you might, you know—you look sorter funny.” Willard laughed.
“Oh, come along,” his friend urged, disappointed.