“Whoever he was he oughter be lynched and I’d like to help do it.”
The suspicion entered the mind of the young aviator that it was not at all unlikely that the speaker was the guilty one. With him might have been joined others and Harvey studied their faces in the hope of gaining a clue, but in vain. Knowing his father would back his action he said:
“That was done by some person in Chesterton; you know the people better than I do; if you would like to earn two hundred dollars find who he or they were.”
Something in the nature of a reaction came over our young friend. Ashamed of his weakness, he turned his back on the group, walked rapidly to the hotel and went to his room. And it must be confessed that when he reached that, he sat down in his chair, covered his face with his hands and sobbed as if his heart were broken. Bohunkus, who was at his heels, faced him in another chair, and unable to think of anything appropriate for the occasion, held his peace, frequently crossing and uncrossing his beam-like legs, clenching his fists and sighing. He yearned to do something, but couldn’t decide what it should be.
Harvey’s outburst lasted only a brief while. He washed his face and deliberately completed his toilet.
“There’s no use of crying over spilt milk, Bunk,” he remarked calmly; “let’s go down to breakfast.”
“I knowed dere was something I’d forgot,—and dat’s it. Seems to me I’m allers hungry, Harv.”
“I have thought that a good many times.”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, so’s to git rewenge on ’em.”
“What’s that?” asked Harvey, who, as is sometimes the case in mental stress, felt an almost morbid interest in trifles.