“You've got me all wrong, Bruce,” he said. “I know what's the matter with you—you're jealous. You're gone on Gay yonder and you're sore because you think I'm cutting you out. Well, don't go spreading any of these 'you're married' lies about me in our beautiful little city, understand? I won't stand that.”
Bruce said nothing. It was evident there was something wrong with his information. He had no reason to doubt that Henrietta believed what she had told him, but something was wrong somewhere. He had tried to “throw a scare” into Todder and the scare had not worked as he had expected. He blamed himself, a lawyer, even if a young one, for having attempted a bluff before he had his evidence in proper shape to back his bluff, but he felt reasonably sure that when he had had another talk with Henrietta he would have the facts so completely in hand that he would be more successful.
Todder lighted his cigarette. This, in Iowa at that date, was in itself equivalent to a show of bravado, for the cigarette was a sign of deep depravity, so much so that the Riverbank audiences were never quite sure the “vilyun” on the stage was actually a villain until he had lighted a “coffin nail.” Even Simon Legree, in “Uncle Tom's Cabin” had to come to it, and if Uncle Tom had put match to a cigarette he would have lost the sympathy and gained the hatred of all respectable citizens. By lighting a cigarette Freeman Todder was, in a way, flaunting his devilishness in the face of his rival.
“Your jealousy has given you wheels in the head, that's what's the matter with you, Bruce,” Todder said carelessly. “If you want to get the real inside information about my wife affairs, past, present, or to be, I 'll give it to you straight. The only wife I ever expect to have is sitting on that porch. There you have it and you can do what you please with it. You can stand here if you want to; I'm going back and talk to Gay.” Bruce walked back at his side.
“I seem to have been mistaken,” he said in the tone he would have used had he believed he was mistaken, and in a few minutes the incident seemed to be forgotten.
Henrietta, however, was greatly disturbed. She could not guess what had passed between the two men nor how much Bruce had told or Todder guessed. She was, for the moment, exceedingly unhappy. She looked at Freeman closely, trying to judge what had been said, but his face offered no information.
If anything Bruce had said so acted on Freeman that the latter tried to leave town, the very worst was apt to happen. Johnnie Alberson, thinking he had been played a trick, would in all probability have Freeman arrested. That would very promptly end everything. Henrietta drew her chair far back in the shadow of the porch and sat silent, trying to plan something when there was in fact nothing that could be planned until she had spoken with Freeman. She had closed her eyes, trying to think, when she heard Lorna say, “Who's that?”
Henrietta peered into the dusk and saw a plump, jaunty figure coming up the walk toward the house.
“It's Johnnie Alberson,” Freeman answered Lorna.
It was Johnnie Alberson. He came to the porch smiling and swinging his light cane, his straw hat in his hand.