“No. He is not in my church at all,” said David. “But he is a just man; I am sure he is a just man.”
“He is a hard man,” said Turrill. “The most he would do for me was to say he would keep his mouth shut until the new treasurer goes in. He says he'll send Marty to the pen; he'll kill Marty instead.”
Turrill arose. There was no emotion shown on his inscrutable gambler's face. David stood fingering the money Turrill had handed him, and Turrill moved to the door. From the back he looked like an old, old man.
“You can see what you can do, if you want to,” Turrill said. “I can't do anything.”
“Wait!” David said. “You'll let me thank you for coming to me? You'll let me call on you for help if I need it?”
“Anything!” said Turrill, and with that he went.
'Thusia was in the kitchen and David went there.
“It's Marty Ware,” he said. “He's in trouble, 'Thusia. I'll have to go downtown and let my sermon go. We'll give them another from the bottom of the barrel this time. Do you suppose you can, presently, take Alice and drop in on Marty's mother for a little visit? Are you able?”
“In half an hour?”
“Yes, or in an hour. Marty is in dire trouble, 'Thusia, and I don't know whether he can be pulled out of it. I'm going to do what I can. I've been thinking of his mother; she is so—what's the word!—aloof! isolated! so by herself. If the trouble comes she will need someone, some woman, or she will break. I'd send Rose Hinch, but I think you would be better—you and Alice.”