"Where's the joke?" he asked. "Blamed if I see it."
"It's no joke," said Medbury, patiently. "I've got to go. I can't tell why—just now; but some day I may."
Davis gazed up and down the street with an abstracted air; but all at once he drew himself together and exclaimed:
"Well, I'll be—" He broke off suddenly, and, turning sharply, began to walk back to the village.
"Where are you going?" asked Medbury, still standing in the road.
Over his shoulder Davis answered laconically:
"To tell the ol' man I can't go." He did not stop.
"It's mighty good of you, John," Medbury called humbly. "I'll make it up to you somehow—see if I don't."
"Make it up!" cried Davis, stopping in the road. "I don't want nothin' made up. You made it up, years ago, when you got me out of that affair in Para. You didn't ask no questions that night; nor when you run across our bar in that no'theaster to fish up my boy when his boat capsized. I don't know what you're up to, and I don't care. It's all right." He waved his hand lightly, as if to dismiss all obligations, and departed in search of Captain March.
But half a dozen steps away, Medbury heard him laugh, and turned to see him standing in the road, looking back.