She was silent as usual under his bombastic speech, knowing it was useless to interrupt him.
“Didn’t feature no portrait of the feller that hit him, did they?” he went on with enthusiasm. “Not much. Ain’t that proof enough Lamont’s the favorite? Hadn’t thought of that, had yer? You ain’t seen no picter of the other feller, have yer? No, sir. And you won’t, neither; they ain’t got him framed up in no flags or croquet mallets and a horseshoe for luck thrown into the bargain. That’s what I call a ten strike!” he cried, slapping open the extra. “Got him all dolled up, natural as life. Any idea what that front page is worth? Be a little surprised, wouldn’t yer, if I was to tell yer five hundred dollars couldn’t buy it. Take the picter alone——”
“Ebner!” she intervened bravely, with bated breath. “You don’t suppose they’d have dared print it if it wasn’t true?”
“Pshaw!” he laughed. “You don’t know ’em. Besides, Em, how do you know the whole thing ain’t a put-up job? One er them little flimflam hoaxes fer notoriety.”
“Ebner!”
“Well, the more I come to think of it the more I dunno but what I’m right. Where’s girlie?”
“She’s out, dear. It would have broken your heart to have seen her when she read it.”
“What’d she say?”
“You know how she is, dear. She just went out. She said she was going to luncheon with the Jacksons. She looked positively sick—awful shock to her, Ebner. You know how independent and silent she is when anything affects her.”
“Suppose she thinks her good time’s all knocked in the head, eh!” he returned, striding over to the closet for his alpaca coat. “Well, they ain’t by a long shot. Why, Em, it ain’t nothin’ but a joke—more I think of it more I know I’m right. Remember Sol Edmunds, Em—the time he hit Bill Sanders fer courtin’ his wife? Remember how it was all a put-up job to give Sheriff Brown the haw, haw?” A vestige of a hopeful smile crept to her flushed face. “Well, they got their names in the papers, didn’t they? Whole column, if I remember right, in the Springville Leader.”