"And I guess I know who the other is," said Tomlinson, who was a trifle tactless now and then.
Hetty looked at him instead of at Ingleby.
"No," she said reflectively, "I don't think you do. It doesn't matter who she is, anyway, and you haven't told me what you think of Mr. Sewell."
Tomlinson, who watched her with steady eyes, sat silent a moment as though ruminating over something he could not quite understand. Then he said, "The man has grit. Still, I haven't much use for his notion of going round trailing out trouble."
"It isn't difficult to find it," said Ingleby.
"Well," said Tomlinson, "I'm not going to light out when it comes along my way; but I guess I'll wait until it does, like a sensible man, and just now I have no use for any. Our folks in Oregon are poor, and if my luck holds out there's an old woman who's had 'bout as much trouble as she can bear going to have an easy time the rest of her life."
He stopped a moment and rose leisurely to his feet. "Well, I'll go along now. I guess Sewell means well. Good night."
He turned away, and when he lumbered into the shadow of the pines Leger smiled at Ingleby.
"It seems to me that Tomlinson's recommendation didn't go very far," he said.
Ingleby laughed, a trifle scornfully. "Did you expect anything else? When a man who could have made himself almost anything he wished gives himself up to a life of privation for the good of his fellows, it's a little gained when men of Tomlinson's description are willing to admit that he probably has good intentions."