“Love? Any of the Sayre tribe? Jim Sayre drank himself to death, and this boy is like him. And Jim Sayre wasn't faithful to his wife. This boy is—well, he's an heir. That's why he was begotten.”
Margaret Wheeler stared at him.
“Why, Walter!” she said. “He's a nice boy, and he's a gentleman.”
“Why? Because he gets up when you come into the room? Why in heaven's name don't you encourage real men to come here? There's Dick Livingstone. He's a man.”
Margaret hesitated.
“Walter, have you ever thought there was anything queer about Dick Livingstone's coming here?”
“Darned good for the town that he did come.”
“But—nobody ever dreamed that David and Lucy had a nephew. Then he turns up, and they send him to medical college, and all that.”
“I've got some relations I haven't notified the town I possess,” he said grimly.
“Well, there's something odd. I don't believe Henry Livingstone, the Wyoming brother, ever had a son.”