"TEARS ... AND THEN ICE"
The next afternoon Good got together an account of his stewardship and went to see Judith, who was at Braeburn. He took the four o'clock train.
Several stations out, a roughly dressed man entered the car and took the seat next to him. Presently he asked for a match, and with that as an opening, requested what, with delicate euphemism, he characterised as a "loan" of a pipeful of tobacco.
"When were you discharged?" asked Good quietly, as he handed over his pouch. The man changed colour and seemed to shrink visibly into the corner of his seat.
"Who the ... I haven't been discharged," he stammered.
"Deserter, then?"
"I don't get ye."
"What's the use of stalling," said Good. "I've served myself."
The man looked over his shoulder furtively. "How did ye know?" he whispered.
"It takes a long time to lose that set to your shoulders, my friend."