"No," said the other succinctly.
"Well, by gosh, that ain't like Maude," exclaimed Charlie. "I'd 'a' bet two dollars she said 'I want to present my friend from New York, Mr. Courtney Thane, the distinguished aviator, Miss Crown,' or something like that. I can't understand Maude missing a chance like that. She just LOVES it."
Courtney smiled. "I daresay she wasn't quick enough," he said drily. "Miss Crown was in a hurry. And I left before she came out of the house. Now is your curiosity satisfied?"
"Absolutely," said Charlie. "Now I'll sleep soundly tonight. I was afraid the darned thing would keep me awake all night. Remember me saying I had a small stock hid away up in my room? What say to going up,—now that the coast is clear,—and having a nip or two?"
"No, thanks, old man. I don't drink. Doctor's orders. Besides, I've got some letters to write. I'll walk home with you if you're ready to go."
II — Mr. Webster shook his head sadly. "That's the one drawback to livin' in Windomville," he said. "People either want to drink too much or they don't want to drink at all. Nobody wants to drink in moderation. Now, here's you, for instance. You look like a feller that could kiss a highball or two without compromising yourself, and there's Hatch that has to hold his nose so's he won't get drunk if he comes within ten feet of a glass of whiskey." They were strolling slowly toward the Tavern. "Now you up and claim you're on the water wagon. I'd been counting on you, Court,—I certainly had. The last time I took Hatch and Doc Simpson up to my room,—that was on the Fourth of last July,—I had to sleep on the floor. Course, if I was skinny like Doc and Hatch that wouldn't have been necessary. But I can't bear sleepin' three in a bed. Doctor's orders, eh? That comes of livin' in New York. There ain't a doctor in Indiana that would stoop so low as that,—not one. Look at old man Nichols. He's eighty-two years old and up to about a year ago he never missed a day without taking a couple o' swigs of rye. He swears he wouldn't have lived to be more than seventy-five if he hadn't taken his daily nip. That shows how smart and sensible our doctors are out here. They—"
"By the way, Mrs. Nichols appears to be a remarkably well-preserved old lady,—aside from her hearing. How old is she?"
"Eighty-three. Wonderful old woman."
"I suppose she has always had her daily swig of rye."
Charlie Webster was silent for a moment. He had to think. This was a very serious and unexpected complication.