“Well, the fellow who carries out your mad project will settle for his folly.”
“If he did, I’d stand by him in it.”
“He couldn’t stand by himself. There’d be the trouble—he’d fall.”
Glenn Andrews knocked the ashes from his pipe and got up, straightening his shoulders and smoothing his hair with his hands. His mind was made up. He did not expect to fall.
Knowing himself to be his own master, he felt that to lend himself to anything that would hurt her ideal of him would be impossible.
“Where now?”
“To find somebody looking for trouble,” Glenn said, with a smile.
“Don’t forget the Sunday night concert, Andrews. I’m counting on you. Here are half the box tickets. Do what you please with them.”
“I shall be there. Thank you.”