"What a question!" she retorted, not pretending to misunderstand its pointing. "I've met him only once—or twice, I should say, though I didn't even know his name the first time."
"What did he tell you? about his going away, I mean."
"He said—but you've no right to ask me, Dick. It wasn't exactly a confidence, but"—
"Yes, I have a right to ask; he was my friend a good while before he was yours. Tell me what he said."
"He gave me to understand that things hadn't been going quite right with him, and he said he was going to the mountains to—to try to make another start."
Bartrow tucked Connie's arm under his own and walked her up and down the long veranda twice before he could bring himself to say the thing that was.
"He didn't go, Connie; he's here now, if he hasn't gone out on the prairie somewhere and taken a pot shot at himself. Lansdale saw him only a week or so ago."
"Oh, Dick!"
"It's tough, isn't it?" He stood on the step and buttoned his coat. "But I'm glad you know him—or at least, know who he is. If you should happen to run across him in any of your charity trips, just set Tommie on him and wire me if you find out where he burrows."