"But Mrs. Strong didn't say anything about the accident," he said over the wire. "She simply said you were in town for the night."
"I can't understand that," replied Alix. "She knew why I came up to town, and I telephoned her during the afternoon that I would stay overnight.
"She might have told me," he complained. "It would have relieved my mind enormously. I—I was horribly unhappy. Never closed my eyes. I thought you,—that is, I wondered if I had done anything to offend you. My Lord, you'll never know how happy I am this minute. My heart is singing—And to think it was like a lump of lead all last night. Do try to come out this evening."
She did not answer at once, but he could plainly hear her breathing. Then she said softly:
"If—if the child is better. I can't leave Marjorie until—until—"
"I understand," he cried heartily. "What a selfish beast I am. Don't give me another thought. Your place is there. Because you are an angel!"
Later on he sauntered over to the postoffice. A number of men and women were congregated in front of the drug store, among them Charlie Webster and A. Lincoln Pollock. The latter had his "pad" in hand and was writing industriously.
"What's the excitement?" Courtney inquired, coming up to Charlie.
"Somebody poisoned Henry Brickler's collie last night," replied Charlie. There was a dark scowl on his chubby face.
"You don't mean that corking dog up at the white house on the—"