He stamped to the door, went out, slammed it furiously behind him, and was gone.
CHAPTER IV
The predominant feeling in Glenning's breast when Doctor Kale left him was one of resentment. The old fellow had presumed far beyond his rights, had gone into the future in an entirely unwarrantable way, and had given advice for which there was no thanks in the young man's heart. His resentment was heightened by the fact that Julia Dudley's face had been haunting him all morning. Certainly he did not love her. He had never exchanged a word with her; he had only seen her once, a vision of white beauty with brown, braided hair, standing like a Niobe in that night of stress and peril. He had never been of a susceptible temperament. He had work to do in the world, and love must wait. That had been his motto of renunciation, for he had a deep, strong, tender heart, charged with that priceless heritage God gives to each of his children. But when the girl with the braided hair had stepped forward in the presence of half the town and had singled him out for her cavalier in the adventure of that hour, he had felt a strange and unaccountable thrill pass through him. Her presence had been with him in the burning, blinding heat of his subsequent struggle, and the knowledge that she was waiting without for him to appear again a victor had nerved his arm and his smoke-numbed brain to success. He did not try to hide these facts from himself, but it was galling to think that a meddlesome old busy-body had also found them out, and had flung them in his face, coupled with a warning.
He shook himself together and took another view. He must not be supersensitive. The old man had been good to him. He had ministered to him and nursed him when he, himself, was worn and tired. And Dillard had said he was peculiar. But Glenning had seen the deeper, truer side to Doctor Kale for a few moments, and he knew that whatever nature he presented exteriorly, down in his heart he was a man. That personal experience of which he spoke evasively probably referred to the death of his wife. Anyhow it was something very vital; something of serious import, and John saw now that it had been shrewdly given him to assist him in formulating a proper attitude towards Miss Dudley. Old Doctor Kale loved her. Of course it was a paternal, protecting love, but it was deep as the nethermost sea, and as true as heaven. And old Doctor Kale knew that as sure as grass grew, and water ran down hill, a man and a maid will love.
Slowly through these engrossing reflections a sound crept to Glenning's brain. He had been conscious of it for several moments in an indifferent way, but all at once it assumed the tones of a conversation. He inclined his head in the direction from whence the sound came, and caught a name which made him start. He got up, alert, calm, quiet, and moved swiftly towards the cheap oak dresser. He now observed for the first time that this sat in front of a door connecting with another room, and it was from that room the voices came. There was no transom, but by moving the dresser slightly he would have access to the keyhole. This would have to be accomplished without noise. He listened. The voices had sunk to a murmur. There was no choice, and instantly his long, sinewy fingers gripped the top of the dresser on either side. Oh, how it hurt when he put forth his strength! But he lifted it, swerved it a few inches, and set it down without a sound. The exertion had racked his body with acutest pain, but he smiled grimly as he thought of what his recent caller would have said and done could he have seen him, then squatted before the keyhole and softly put his ear to the tiny aperture. In an instant his face grew grave.
"Tonight, Travers; it must be tonight," a husky, coarse voice was whispering; "it's got to be done!"
"And you want me to do it?" came the answering whisper, in a nervous, excited manner.
"Yes. There's nothing in the State that can beat my Thunderer, Daystar and Imperial Don except that long-legged devil-colt. You want to retire from business. You can do it after this summer's racing with the tips I'll give you if you'll kill Dudley's colt tonight!"
"I can't! I can't!" was the moaning reply. "I'm not too good; I'm afraid!"