"And then?"
"Susan's a wonder," continued Jimmy, taking heart now his Rubicon lay behind him. "Most girls would have thrown a fit. But Susan seems to feel there's a lot to Mr. Young, in spite of all that rotten side of him. She saw right away he believed that about her, and so he couldn't be blamed much for getting sore. Anyway, he must have a white streak in him, for Susan talked to him—the way she can—and he soon realized he was in all wrong. But the reason he was in wrong—that's what finished things between Susan and Mr. Phar! I guess you won't blame me for wanting to punch his head."
"No," I threw in; "I shouldn't blame you for wanting to punch mine!"
"Give us the reason, Jimmy," insisted Phil, his grave, Indianlike face stiffened to a mask.
"Mr. Young didn't get that lie from Mr. Phar," admitted Jimmy, "but he did take it straight to him, when he first heard it, thinking he ought to know."
"Good God!" I cried. "Do you mean to tell me Maltby confirmed it?"
"Well," Jimmy hesitated, "it seems he didn't come right out and say, 'Yes, that's so!' But he didn't deny it either. Sort of shrugged his shoulders, I guess, and did things with his eyebrows. Whatever he did or didn't, Mr. Young got it fastened in his head then and there that Susan——"
But this time Jimmy simply couldn't go on; the words stuck in his throat and stayed there.
Phil's eyes met mine and held them, long.
"Hunt," he said quietly at last, "it's a fortunate thing for Susan—for all of us—that I have long years of self-discipline behind me. Otherwise, I should go to New York to-morrow, find Maltby Phar, and shoot him."