“Boarding house burned down and I’m going to take in a few of the boys. You might lend a hand on these chairs, Craighill—pile ’em in the corner—good! And you, Miss Morley, if you’ll show me what to do with these blankets, we’ll soon have a grand dormitory.”
Cots and bedding had been brought out from town and these were opened and distributed; Wayne, glad to be doing something, did the heaviest lifting. Jean, moving about silently, unfolded and placed the blankets. Some of the men to be sheltered were already coming in, receiving Paddock’s cordial greeting as they appeared at the door.
“That will do beautifully,” beamed Paddock, surveying the lines of cots with satisfaction. “Thank you very much. Joe will be all right. He’s as hard as nails and a mere congestion of the lungs can’t hurt him particularly. Good of you to come, Craighill. Sorry I can’t give you both something to eat, but we had a fine line of hungry fellows to-day and they cleaned me out.”
The minister stepped into the crisp white night for his last words with them. He was not a deep searcher of souls, but this man and woman puzzled and interested him greatly. He noted their fine height, their vigorous, free walk; and knowing much of both their lives he was moved to pity for them.
On the long journey into the city they spoke little. Jean was preoccupied and Wayne was glad to be silent. What had Joe and Jean been to each other? Whatever the relationship it had meant much to the young man, as proved by his incoherent murmurings. Jean and Wayne had the car to themselves much of the time, but she did not speak except to answer his occasional questions.
“It is late; you will miss your dinner. If you will go to the house I can telephone Mrs. Craighill to have supper ready for you.”
“Oh, no; they will give me something at the boarding house. My grandfather is there and he will be troubled if I don’t come.”
“Mr. Gregory is here again?”
“He comes and goes. I think I ought to tell you that he is preparing to press his claim against Colonel Craighill in that Sand Creek matter. I have urged him not to, but he is old and ill and I sometimes think his mind is unsettled. I ought to take him away. As long as I’m here he has an excuse for coming. I ought to give up my work, and take him back home—to our own home at Denbeigh.”
“It’s an unfortunate matter—the whole business. My father’s interest in the Sand Creek Company is very small. He has nothing to do with the management of the company.”