"It's from Bud, and—I guess it's important. I've only two or three pages more."
He picked the letter up and sorted the sheets into order. Elvine watched him. She wanted to ask a dozen questions. But she put none of them.
"He's your partner," was all she said.
"Yep," he nodded, with his eyes on the pages.
Then Elvine voiced something of her real feelings of the moment.
"I just hate mail," she said, with what seemed unnecessary force, as she began to draw on her gloves. "It always worries me to death. I think it scares me. Makes me think of death, or disaster, or—or bills and things." She laughed. "Maybe it's my pessimistic nature makes me feel that way. When things are all sunshiny and fine, why, it kind of feels to me there are clouds around. Nasty, mean, hateful shadows lurking, full of——"
"Hell for some one, eh?"
There was a wry twist to the man's lips as he smiled his reply.
"Guess that's how it is with mine," he went on. "I'll just read these pages, and then we'll get going. Eh?"
The woman's watchful eye smiled assent and she continued to draw her gloves on. But her observation of him seemed to gather intensity the moment he became absorbed in the clumsy, unskilled handwriting.