"Goin' to take some drawin' lessons, I believe."
"I am very glad to hear that he has such a remarkable opportunity. But I was under the impression that he had little or no money." Mr. Marks was now deeply interested.
"Harve said somethin' about a friend payin' all the expenses because he took a likin' to Jud."
"And what provision has he made for Justine?"
"Well, now you're askin' somethin' I cain't answer. Harve's such a derned careless fool he didn't ast anythin' about that part of it."
Later in the afternoon Mr. Marks drove back to the tollgate and asked Hardesty if he had kept the paper containing the notice of the wedding in Chicago. He could not account for the feeling that inspired this act on his part. Something indefinable had formed itself in his brain and he could not rest until he had settled it within himself.
Few Chicago papers found their way into this section of Indiana. Clay township was peculiarly isolated. Its people were lowly, and comfortable in the indifference of the lowly to the progress of the world aside from its politics, its wars and its markets. Farm papers, family story papers and the Glenville Weekly Tomahawk provided the reading for these busy, homely people. Jim Hardesty "took" a Chicago paper, but he was usually too busy whittling and telling stories to read much more than the headlines.
"Dinged if I know what I done with it, parson," said Jim, scratching his head thoughtfully. "'Pears to me I wrapped some bacon up in it fer Mis' Trimmer yesterday. Anythin' pertickler you wanted to see about the weddin'?"
"Do you remember what it said about the wedding?"
"Lemme see, what did it say? Said the groom wuz from northern Indiana—up about Fort Wayne, I think. The girl's name wuz—hold on a minute—what wuz her name? Wood—that's it. Swell people, I guess. This feller wuz an artist, too. Say, that's kinder queer, ain't it?"