“That's right,” snapped Mr Dawes; “curse me for it!”
“Don't make so much noise.”
“If you were ten years younger I'd—I'd——” blustered Dawes.
“I wish Jack Desmond had lived,” mused the other, paying no attention to the belligerent. “He would have put a stop to this fool marriage.”
They sat down and pondered.
“If Jim had to marry someone, why didn't he marry right here at home?” demanded Dawes, turning fiercely on his friend.
“Because,” said Riggs, with significant solemnity, “he is in the habit of marrying away from home. Look at the first one. He married her, didn't he? And see what came of it. He ought to have had more sense the second time. But marrying men never do get any sense. They just marry, that's all.”
“Jim's getting mighty cranky of late,” ruminated Dawes, puffing away at his unlighted cigar. “It's a caution the way he snaps Freddy off these days. He—he hates that boy, Joe.”
“Sh—h! Not so loud!”
“Confound you, don't you know a whisper when you hear it?” demanded Dawes, who, in truth, had whispered.