"Now, Baptiste," defended Glavis, "I am no party to your wife's being here in Chicago."
"And I agree with you," returned Baptiste. "It is not your nature to make trouble between people, Glavis. I'll do you that honor. People are inclined to follow their natural bent, and yours, I repeat, is not to cause others misery. Therefore, you can rest assured that I do not mean to involve you in any of my troubles."
"That is sure manly in you, Baptiste," Glavis said heartily.
"But it is a fact, I venture, that you have been advised that I spoke ill of you—at least, I spoke disparagingly of you while your folks were in the West. Am I speaking correctly?"
"I'll have to admit that you are," and he scowled a little.
"Do you believe these statements?"
The other scowled again, but didn't have the courage to say that he did—or, perhaps to lie. He knew why he had been told what he had. To unite with the Reverend in his getting even with Baptiste, Glavis had been told that Baptiste had "run him down."
"Well, Glavis, the fact that my wife is at your home—under your roof—I, her husband, am therefore placed at a disadvantage thereby. You cannot help being indirectly implicated in whatever may happen."
"Now, now, Baptiste," the other cried quickly. "I do not want to have anything to do with you and Orlean's troubles. I—"
"It is not Orlean and my troubles, Glavis. It is her father's and my troubles."