But the girl’s dancing-eyed enjoyment found no reflection in Bill’s brother. In a moment Charlie’s whole manner underwent a change, and his dark eyes stared incredulously up into Bill’s face, which, surely enough, still bore the marks of his encounter.
“You—thrashed Pete?” he inquired slowly, in the manner of a man painfully digesting unpleasant facts.
But Bill was in no mood to accept any sort of chiding on the point.
“I wish I’d—killed him,” he retorted fiercely.
Charlie’s eyes turned slowly from the contemplation of his brother’s war-scarred features.
“I guess he deserved it—all right,” he said thoughtfully.
Helen protested indignantly.
“Deserved it? My word, he deserved—anything,” she cried. Then her indignation merged again into her usual laughter. “Say,” she went on. “I—I don’t believe you’re a bit glad, a bit thankful to Bill. I—I don’t believe you mind that—that I was insulted. Oh, but if you’d only seen it you’d have been proud of Big Brother Bill. He—he was just greased lightning. I don’t think I’d be scared of anything with him around.”
But her praise was too much for the modest Bill. He flushed as he clumsily endeavored to change the subject.
“Where are you going, Charlie?” he inquired. “We’re going on over the river. Kate’s there. You coming?”