“She’ll get over the thing,” he said to himself as he watched McConnell drive off down the trail. “They all must have a go at it, the little dears. But there is something eating into that boy’s soul. I only hope he will give me a chance to help him out.”
The sergeant would get his chance that evening, for Paul was to spend the night at the sergeant’s quarters, but he knew well there were certain reserves beyond which men, some men at least, could not pass with each other. If Paul chose to confide in him, well and good, but he wasn’t a chap whose affairs you could pry into.
But Paul was quite open with the sergeant. He was in need of advice. His life had been so remote from the world and its affairs, and now he was face to face with big problems and he knew that in the sergeant he had found a friend. He was glad when the sergeant said to him after dinner, “And what about you, Paul?”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I’d like to ask you some things.”
“Fire ahead, old boy. You know you can ask anything you like.”
“First about that—about Sleeman. How do I stand with him. My father’s wife burnt his house down. Don’t I owe him for that?”
“Not in law you don’t. The brute deserved it.”
“Man to man, Sergeant, as my father’s son, what should I do? What would a man, a man of his class do?”
“Man to man, Paul, your father would consider it a debt.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Now, another thing. Do you happen to know anything about my father’s affairs, with Sleeman, I mean? I know that your police go into things pretty thoroughly. I have been thinking a lot.”