"Why? What do you know about him?"
"Well, his wife's here; you took him upstairs with you that night dead drunk, you went home and he was gone before any of us was up. She ... she's worried to fits about him. Everybody's tryin' to put her off his track, 'cause they feel sorry for her; they think he's probably gone back to his mine to sober up, but nobody wants to see her follow and find out what he is. Nobody thinks she knows how he's been actin'.
"You know, they think that she's his sister. I don't."
He scooped water from the shallow basin and buried his face in the cupped hands that held it, rubbing and blowing furiously.
"That's what I come to town for, Nora, because I suspected she'd be worryin'." To himself he thought, "Sister! That helps!"
"You mean, you know where he is?"
"Yeah,"—nodding his head as he wiped his hands—"I took him home. I got him there in bed an' I come to town th' first chance I got to tell her he's gettin' along fine."
"That was swell of you, Bruce," she said, with an admiring smile.
He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.
"Yes, it was!" she insisted. "To do it for her. She's th' sweetest thing ever come into this town, an' he's...."