“There was a young woman with him?” pursued Mrs. Porter.
At this moment Mr. Penway’s eyes, roving desperately about the room, fell upon the bottle of Bourbon which Kirk’s kindly hospitality had provided. His emotions at the sight of it were those of the shipwrecked mariner who see a sail. He sprang at it and poured himself out a stiff dose. Before Mrs. Porter’s disgusted gaze he drained the glass and then turned to her, a new man.
The noble spirit restored his own. For the first time since the interview had begun he felt capable of sustaining his end of the conversation with ease and dignity.
“How’s that?” he said.
“There was a young woman with him?” repeated Mrs. Porter.
Mr. Penway imagined that he had placed her by this time. Here, he told himself in his own crude language, was the squab’s mother camping on Kirk’s trail with an axe. Mr. Penway’s moral code was of the easiest description. His sympathies were entirely with Kirk. Fortified by the Bourbon, he set himself resolutely to the task of lying whole-heartedly on behalf of his absent friend.
“No,” he said firmly.
“No!” exclaimed Mrs. Porter.
“No,” repeated Mr. Penway with iron resolution. “No young woman. No young woman whatsoever. I noticed it particularly, because I thought it strange, don’t you know—what I mean is, don’t you know, strange there shouldn’t be!”
How tragic is a man’s fruitless fight on behalf of a friend! For one short instant Mrs. Porter allowed Mr. Penway to imagine that the victory was his, then she administered the coup-de-grace.