“She was very nice.”
“She'd better be” he remarked, and Donna thought that beneath the jocularity of his manner she detected a menace.
“What have you heard?” she queried.
“I've heard,” he replied deliberately, “that Donna Corblay is harboring a desperate character in her home.”
“I heard something else to-day. While we're gossiping, Mr. Hennage, I'll tell you the latest—the very latest. It's reported that Dan Pennycook is drinking.”
“No!” Mr. Hennage was concerned. He was fond of Dan Pennycook. “Who told you!” he inquired.
“He was seen buying a bottle of port wine in the Silver Dollar saloon this afternoon, and you know his wife is strictly temperance.”
“Oh, shucks! There's nothin' to that report. I can account for that just as easy as lookin' through a hoop. It's goin' to be wine jelly, after all. I thought maybe it might be calf's-foot, but—” he broke off. “I wish,” he said earnestly, “I could get hold of a low-spirited billy goat, Miss Donna, an' tie him to your front gate when Mrs. P. arrives. You want to warn the nurse, Miss Donna. Remember what the old sharp in the big book says: 'Beware o' the Greeks when they come into camp with gifts.' Hey, Josephine!”
He hailed his waitress.
“About twenty-five dollars' worth o' ham an' eggs,” he ordered, “with some pig's ear and cauliflower on the side. I ain't had such a big appetite for my grub since I was a boy.”