"In order that I might have a logical and reasonable excuse to furnish Nan Brent with sufficient funds to leave this town and make a new start elsewhere. I have charged the twenty-five hundred to your personal account on the company books."
"You also indulged in some extraordinary statements regarding our pressing need for the Sawdust Pile as a drying-yard."
"We can use it, sir," Daney replied. "I felt justified in indicating to the girl that her room was desired to her company. Your son," he added deliberately, "was treading on soft ground, and I took the license of an old friend and, I hope, a faithful servant, to rid him of temptation."
"I shall never be done with feeling grateful to you, Andrew. The girl is leaving on the train that's just pulling out, and—the incident is closed. My son is young. He will get over it. Thank you, Andrew, dear friend, until you're better paid—as you will be some day soon."
"I'll have need of your friendship if Donald ever discovers my part in this deal. He'll fire me out o' hand."
"If he does, I'll hire you back."
"Hell will pop when he finds the bird has flown, sir."
"Let it pop! That kind of popping is music in my ears. Hark, Andrew lad! There's the train whistling for Darrow's Crossing. From there on the trail is lost—lost—lost, I tell you! O Lord, God of Hosts, I thank Thee for Thy great mercy!"
And, quite suddenly, old Hector sat down and began to weep.
XXVII