“Marion, will you be kind enough to give me my gloves?” said Dicksie, holding out her hand.
Marion, having tried once or twice to intervene, stood between the firing-lines in helpless amazement. Her exclamations were lost; the two before her gave no heed to ordinary intervention.
McCloud flushed at being cut off, but he bowed. “Of course,” he said, “if you will listen to no explanation I can only withdraw.”
HELEN HOLMES AS MARION SINCLAIR IN THE PHOTO-PLAY PRODUCTION OF “WHISPERING SMITH.” © American Mutual Studio.
He went back, dinnerless, to work all night; but the switchbacks were doing capitally, and all night long, trains were rolling through Medicine Bend from the West in an endless string. In the morning the yard was nearly cleared of westbound tonnage. Moreover, the mail in the morning brought compensation. A letter came from Glover telling him not to worry himself to death over the tie-up, and one came from Bucks telling him to make ready for the building of the Crawling Stone Line.
McCloud told Rooney Lee that if anybody asked for him to report him dead, and going to bed slept twenty-four hours.