“That’s why I need you. And I’m just as sure you need me. I need not only the education you have now, but what you’re getting every day. When you see me you see a man who is always looking awa-a-ay ahead. I see what you’re going to be, and I’m making this offer to the Claude St. Pierre of the future.”
Mr. Tarbox waited for a reply. The avenue had been passed, the railway crossed, and the hedge skirted. They loitered slowly into the governor’s grove, under whose canopy the beams of the late afternoon sun were striking and glancing. But all their light seemed hardly as much as that which danced in the blue eyes of Mr. Tarbox while Claude slowly said:
“I dunno if we can fix dat. I was glad to see you comin’. I reckon you jus’ right kind of man I want. I jus’ make a new invention. I t’ink ’f you find dat’s good, dat be cawntrac’ enough for right smart while. And beside’, I t’ink I invent some mo’ b’fo’ long.”
But Mr. Tarbox was not rash. He only asked quiet and careful questions for some time. The long sunset was sending its last rays across the grove-dotted land, and the birds in every tree were filling the air with their sunset song-burst, when the two friends re-entered the avenue of oaks. They had agreed to join their fortunes. Now their talk drifted upon other subjects.
“I came back to Vermilionville purposely to see you,” said Mr. Tarbox. “But I’ll tell you privately, you wasn’t the only cause of my coming.”
Claude looked at him suddenly. Was this another haunted man? Were there two men haunted, and only one fantasy? He felt ill at ease. Mr. Tarbox saw, but seemed not to understand. He thought it best to speak plainly.
“I’m courting her, Claude; and I think I’m going to get her.”
Claude stopped short, with jaws set and a bad look in his eye.
“Git who?”
But Mr. Tarbox was calm—even complacent. He pushed his silk hat from his forehead, and said: