“That’s the way of it.”
“You’re a brick, Larry Donovan. There’s only one of you; and now—”
“And now, John Glenarm, we’ve got to get down to business,—or you must. As for me, after a few hours of your enlivening society—”
“You don’t go a step until we go together,—no, by the beard of the prophet! I’ve a fight on here and I’m going to win if I die in the struggle, and you’ve got to stay with me to the end.”
“But under the will you dare not take a boarder.”
“Of course I dare! That will’s as though it had never been as far as I’m concerned. My grandfather never expected me to sit here alone and be murdered. John Marshall Glenarm wasn’t a fool exactly!”
“No, but a trifle queer, I should say. I don’t have to tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me. It’s my kind of a job. If it weren’t that the hounds are at my heels I’d like to stay with you, but you have enough trouble on hands without opening the house to an attack by my enemies.”
“Stop talking about it. I don’t propose to be deserted by the only friend I have in the world when I’m up to my eyes in trouble. Let’s go down and get some coffee.”
We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of the night’s struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about his head and limped slightly; otherwise he was the same— silent and inexplicable.
Daylight had not improved the appearance of the room. Several hundred books lay scattered over the floor, and the shelves which had held them were hacked and broken.