Presently, he imagined that he had decided all along to go to the Point and have a talk with Twombley. So he kept straight ahead.
Twombley delighted his idle hours. The man, apparently, never went to bed until daylight, and his quaint unmorality was as diverting as that of an impish boy.
“Now, sir,” he had confided to Northrup at a recent meeting, “there’s Peneluna Sniff. Good cook; good manager. I held off while she played up to old Sniff, women are curious! But now that woman ought to be utilized legitimate-like. She’s running to waste and throwing away her talents on that young Rivers as is giving this here Point the creeps. Peneluna and me together could find things out!”
Northrup, hurrying on, believed there was no better way to drive off the blue devils that were torturing him than to pass the evening with Twombley.
Just then he heard quick, light footsteps coming toward him. He hid behind some bushes by the path and waited.
The oncomer was Larry Rivers on his way from the Point. His hat was pulled down over his face and his hands were plunged in his pockets. A lighted cigar in his mouth illumined his features––Larry rarely needed his hands to manipulate his cigar; a shift seemed to be all that was essential, until the ashes fell and the cigar was almost finished.
Larry walked on, and when he was beyond sound Northrup proceeded on his way.
The Point seemed wrapped in decent slumber. A light 169 frankly burned in Twombley’s hovel, but for the rest, darkness!
Oddly enough, Northrup passed Twombley’s place without halting, and presently found himself nearing Rivers’s. This did not surprise him. He had quite forgotten his plan.
It was seeing Larry that had suggested this new move, probably; at any rate, Northrup was curiously interested in the fact that Larry was headed away from the Point and toward the yellow house.