“You're mighty quick at inference. Maybe I wasn't. But I was. Now I'm not. That's all there is to it.”
“But why not? Can't you turn the case over? I'll bet my hat it's a dead-beat case at that!”
Burns nodded again. “It is.”
“You're an ass, then.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don't expect—her—to stay in Washington waiting for you, do you, when she only came up for that wedding and is going straight back to keep some other engagements? That's what Win says she's to do.”
“No, I don't expect her to wait.” Burns pulled the slouch hat lower yet. Chester could barely see his eyes. He could only hear the tone of his denial of any such absurd expectation.
Chester rose and stood looking down at his friend, who had folded his left arm over his right in its sling, as he sat on the chair arm, and looked the picture of dogged resignation.
“I suppose there's some reason at the bottom of what strikes me as pure foolishness,” he admitted. “You won't do me the honour of mentioning it?”
“Case of infected wound in the foot. Threatened tetanus. Five-year-old child.”