His heart leaped as he thought of Bruce Storrs. The young architect, hardly more than an acquaintance, had in their meetings impressed him by his good sense and manliness. He would see Storrs.
The elevator shot him up to Freeman’s office. Bruce, preparing to leave for the day, put out his hand cordially.
“Mr. Freeman’s gone; but won’t you sit and smoke?”
“No, thanks. Happened to be passing and thought I’d look in. Maybe you’ll join me in a little dash into the country. This has been an off day with me—everything messy. I suppose you’re never troubled that way?”
Bruce saw that something was amiss. Shepherd’s attempt to give an air of inadvertence to his call was badly simulated.
“That’s odd!” Bruce exclaimed. “I’m a little on edge myself! Just thinking of walking a few miles to pull myself together. What region shall we favor with our gloomy presences?”
“That is a question!” Shepherd ejaculated with a mirthless laugh; and then striking his hands together as he recalled where he had parked his car, he added: “Let’s drive to the river and do our walking out there. You won’t mind—sure I’m not making myself a nuisance?”
“Positive!” Bruce declared, though he smothered with some difficulty a wish that Shepherd Mills would keep away from him.
It was inconceivable that Shepherd had been drinking, but he was clearly laboring under some strong emotional excitement. In offering his cigarette case as they waited for the elevator, his hand shook. Bruce adopted a chaffing tone as they reached the street, making light of the desperate situation in which they found themselves.
“We’re two nice birds! All tuckered out by a few hours’ work. That’s what the indoor life brings us to. Henderson got off a good one about the new traffic rules—said they’ve got it fixed now so you can’t turn anywhere in this town till you get to the cemetery. Suppose the ancient Egyptians had a lot of trouble with their chariots—speed devils even in those days!”