The other nodded. “Yes-in a professional way.”
“Has she been sick?”
“She is ill now.”
“What’s the matter?”
“What’s the truth about that McMahon claim-jumper who was acquitted this morning?” asked the Young Doctor with a quizzical eye and an acid note to his voice. “You’ve got your verdict, but you know the real truth, and you mustn’t and won’t tell it. Well?”
Burlingame saw. “Well, I’ll have to ask the old goat myself,” he said. “He’s coming here to-day.” He took up Orlando Guise’s letter from the table, glanced at it smilingly, and threw it down again. “He must be a queer specimen,” Burlingame continued. “He wouldn’t take Orlando Guise’s cheque yesterday. He says he’ll only be paid in hard cash. He’s coming here this afternoon to get it. He’s a crank, whatever else he is. They tell me he doesn’t keep a bank account. If he gets a cheque, he has it changed into cash. If he wants to send a cheque away, he buys one for cash from somebody. He pays for everything in cash, if he can. Actually, he hasn’t a banking account in the place. Cash—nothing but cash! What do you think of that?”
The Young Doctor nodded: “Cash as a habit is useful. Every man must have his hobby, I suppose. Considering the crimes tried at the court in this town, Mazarine’s got unusual faith in human nature; or else he feels himself pretty safe at Tralee.”
“Thieves?” asked Burlingame satirically.
“Yes, I believe that’s still the name, though judging from some of your talk in the Court-house, it’s a word that gives opportunity to take cover. I hope your successful client of to-day, and his brothers, are not familiar with the ways of Mr. Mazarine. I hope they don’t know about this six thousand dollars in cold cash.”
A sneering, sour smile came to Burlingame’s lips. The medical man’s dry allusions touched him on the raw all too often.