“I’ve crossed his trail a hundred times since then, and it’s always an ill-smelling trail. Some day I may follow it a bit myself. You’ll do well to break with him,” the doctor assured him.
“If Doc Carey ever starts on that hyena’s trail, I’d like to be in at the end of the chase,” Champers declared with a grin.
“Why not help a bit yourself? I’m going East for a week. When I come back, I’ll see you. Maybe I can help you a little to get his claws unhooked from your throat,” Carey suggested, and the two men shook hands and separated.
Champers stood up and breathed deeply. The influence of an upright man’s presence is inspiring. Horace Carey did not dream that his confidence and good will that day were turning the balances for Darley Champers for the remainder of his life. Champers was by nature a ferret, and Carey’s parting words took root and grew in his mind.
The May rains that had flooded Grass River and its tributaries did worse for Clover Creek in Ohio a few days 266 later. The lower part of the town of Cloverdale was uncomfortably submerged until the high railroad grade across the creek on the Aydelot farm broke and let the back water have broader outlet.
Doctor Carey had not startled the same old loafers who kept watch over the railway station when he suddenly dropped into the town again. They were too busy watching the capers of Clover Creek to attend to their regular post of duty. And since he had been a guest of Miss Jane Aydelot as much as a half dozen times in two decades, they knew about what to expect of him now.
They were more interested in a big bluff stranger who dropped into town off the early morning train, ate a plentiful meal at the depot restaurant, and then strolled down to the creek. He loitered all day about the spot where the grade broke, nor did he leave the place when the crowd was called away late in the afternoon to a little stream on the other side of town that had suddenly risen to be a river for the first time in the memory of man.
To Doctor Carey, Jane Aydelot looked scarce a day older for the dozen years gone by. Her days were serene and full of good works. Such women do not lose the charm of youth until late in life.
“I have come for help, as you told me to do when I took Leigh away,” Doctor Carey said as they sat on the south veranda in the pleasant light of the May evening.
Jane Aydelot’s face was expectant. Nobody except Doctor Carey knew how a little hungry longing in her eyes disappeared when he made his brief visits and crept back again when he said good-by.