At this point Stephen Lepper was struck with a humorous idea. It struck him on the back, as it were, in such a startling manner that he forgot all about the veil he had woven so industriously. (His companion, indeed, judged that he had adopted that subterfuge less as a concealment for his sins than as a decent covering for his virtues.)
"That prodigal knew what to do with his herd of swine, anyhow. He killed and cured 'em. And I reckon he'll order his own fatted calf—and pay for it."
He stood revealed.
The clergyman got down at Rugby. In parting he shook Mr. Stephen K. Lepper by the hand and wished him—for himself a happy home-coming, for his friend a good appetite for the fatted calf.
His hand was gripped hard, so that he suffered torture till the guard slammed to the door of the compartment and separated them.
Mr. Lepper thrust his head out of the window. "No fear!" he shouted.
The clergyman looked back once as the train moved out of the station. The head was there, uncovered, but still shouting.
"No durned——"
He saw the gray hat waved wildly, but the voice was ravished from him by the wind of the train.