Abe and Will had reached the confidential stage. They were full of friendliness for each other, and ready to fall on each other’s necks. For some time Will had desired an opportunity to open his heart to this man. He would have opened it to anybody. His Celtic temperament was a fire of enthusiasm. He felt that all the world was his, and he wanted to open his arms and embrace it. But so far Abe had given him little opportunity. His own voice pleased the lay-preacher, and he had orated on every subject from politics to street-paving, giving his companion little chance for anything but monosyllabic comments. But finally Will’s chance came. Abe had abruptly questioned the propriety of permitting marriage in their village, where the burden of keeping the offspring of the union was likely to fall upon the public shoulders. Will plunged into the midst of the man’s oratory, and would not be denied.
“Marriage,” he said, “is not for regulation by law. No one has the right,” he declared, with an emphatic thump on the bar, “to dictate to the individual on the subject.” He went on at high pressure in a heated crescendo for some moments, denouncing any interference by public 98 bodies. Then of a sudden he laid a hand on Abe’s shoulder and abruptly dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. His eyes were smiling and shining with the feelings which stirred him. Everything was forgotten except the fact of his engagement to Eve. Jim was obscured from his mental vision by the uplifting spirit vapors which supported his thoughts. Eve, and Eve alone, was in his mind, that––and the fact that she was to be––his.
“Listen to me, Abe,” he said, a little thickly. “All this talk of yours don’t hold water––no, nor spirit either,” he laughed. “Say, I’m goin’ to get married, and so I know.”
Quite how he knew didn’t seem clear; but he paused for the impression. Abe whistled interestedly and edged nearer, turning his ear so as not to miss what the youngster had to say.
“Who?” he demanded.
“A-ah!” Will prolonged the exclamation knowingly, and waited for the man to guess.
“You wus allus sweet on Eve Marsham––you and Jim Thorpe.”
Will suddenly ceased to smile. He drank his whiskey at a gulp and banged his glass on the counter.
“By G–––!” he exclaimed harshly, while Abe wondered at his changed tone. “Yes, it’s Eve––Eve Marsham; and I’m going to marry her––not Jim. D’you git that? By heaven!––yes. Here, Rocket–––!” He lurched round on the bar. “Here, you old Sky-Rocket, get drinks, quick! For everybody! I’ll pay! See, here’s the wad,” and he slammed a thick roll of bills on the counter. “I’ve got money, sure, and I’m––hic––goin’ 99 to burn it. Boys,” he cried, swinging about and facing the tables, supporting himself against the bar, “you’ll drink with me. Si––Silas here’ll take your orders, an’ serve you. You, too, Abe, ole pal.”
Jim looked up from his cards the moment Will addressed the room, and now he watched him swaying against the bar. The light in his dark eyes was peculiar. He seemed to be speculating, and his thoughts were uneasy. Will yawned drunkenly. Peter Blunt, from across the room, was watching Jim, and moved abruptly clear of the tables, but not ostentatiously so.