“What’s Dan been up to down there?”
“Nothing as yet, but he is in the pocket of a woman—he is in a nest of women.”
Ruggles’ broad face had not altered its expression of quiet expectation.
“There’s a lot of ’em down there?” he asked.
“There are two,” Galorey said briefly, “and one of them is my wife.”
Ruggles turned his cigarette between his great fingers. He was a slow thinker. He had none of old Blair’s keenness, but he had other qualities. Galorey saw that he had not been quite understood, and he waited and then said:
“Lady Galorey is like the rest of modern wives, and I am like a lot of modern husbands. We each go our own way. My way is a worthless one, God knows I don’t stand up for it, but it is not my wife’s way in any sense of the word.”
“Does she want Dan to go along on her road?” Ruggles asked. “And how far?”
“We are financially strapped just now,” said Galorey calmly, “and she has got money from the boy.” He didn’t remove his pipe from his mouth; still holding it between his teeth he put his hand in his pocket, took out his wallet, drew forth four checks and laid them down before Ruggles. “It is quite a sum,” Galorey noted, “sufficient to do a lot to Osdene Park in the way of needed repairs.” Ruggles had never seen a smile such as curved his companion’s lips. “But Osdene Park will have to be repaired by money from some other source.”
Ruggles wondered how the husband had got hold of the checks, but he didn’t ask and he did not look at the papers.