“Look here,” he said deliberately, though with a gleam of amusement in his own eyes, “if you feel the same way about things, I’ll move on now. I’ll make shift to hobble to the inn if you’ll lend me a couple of sticks.”
John experienced a sudden sensation of shame. Perhaps it was by reason of the quick interpretation of his unspoken thoughts, perhaps it was something in the other’s steady grey eyes.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said quickly. And then he laughed.
“What’s funny?” demanded David.
“Oh, the whole blessed kaboodle,” returned John, still laughing softly. “Here was I half an hour agone inveighing against you for all I was worth, and now—well, the rôle of good Samaritan strikes me as a bit humorous, that’s all.”
He held a lighted match towards his guest. David took it. After a moment he spoke.
“Then you know them up at the Castle?”
“I do,” said John.
David glanced at him, then turned to a contemplation of his cigarette.
“I had a note from the old lady today,” he said ruminatively. “She has asked me to dine on Thursday. Now, I call that sporting of her. I guess I’d be more like sticking a knife into me than asking me to share her salt. It’s the way she’s worded the note, too, that I’m stuck on. I’d give a good many dollars to get my tongue and pen around words in that fashion. I reckon I shall shake hands with her cordially.”