Abbott was elated. "What kind of new ideas, Bob?" he asked joyously.
"Oh, that impractical nonsense of teaching life instead of books—I guess it's as much an advance over the common thing, as teaching words instead of a, b, c's. You know what I mean, but I don't think I do. Don't worry about it now—something terrible's on my mind—just awful! I can't think of anything else. What you want to do is to scoot out to Tahlelah, Oklahoma, to this address—here's his card—tell 'em Bob sent you—" He looked at Abbott feverishly, as if almost hoping Abbott would bolt for Tahlelah then and there. His broad red face was set determinedly.
"This news is splendid!" Abbott declared enthusiastically. "I had already applied for a country school; I was afraid I had lost out a whole year, on account of—everything. I must thank—"
"Abbott, I don't want to be thanked, I haven't got time to be thanked. Yonder's Hamilton Gregory's house and that's where I'm bound—good night—"
"But, Bob, I haven't told you my business—"
"I'll hear it later, old fellow—dear old fellow—I think a heap of you, old Abb. But I must go now—"
"No, you mustn't. Before you go into that house, we must have a little talk. We can't talk here—people are coming and going—"
"I don't want to talk here, bless you! I want to go in that house. My business is private and pressing." The gate was but a few yards away; he looked at it fixedly, but Abbott held his hand upon the agitated arm.
"Bob, what I have to tell you can't wait, and that's all about it. I won't keep you long, just turn down this alley with me, for it's a matter of life and death."
"Confound your life and death! My business is life and death, too."