“I’m glad you’ve told me that, Len.” McLagan’s smile was almost gentle. “We haven’t told much, have we?”
“No. And sometimes I feel it ’ud be good to tell—things.”
Len Stern’s eyes came back from the pile of gold. It almost seemed as though McLagan had broached something of a deeper interest for him.
“Maybe it would. Well, ther’s Claire and her mother’ll be yearning.” McLagan laughed. “And I’ll be there, too.”
“Which is just another way of saying you haven’t a thing you’re going to tell.”
Len grinned into the other’s face and shook some juice out of his pipe stem on to the stove.
“It doesn’t mean just that, boy,” McLagan said.
“No?”
Len waited. Then he went on.
“See, McLagan, you’ve done a swell thing. Sure I don’t want to say a thing to hurt. You’ve left me guessing, an’ I’m content to go right on guessing if it suits you. You see, I’m just thankful. But maybe you won’t mind saying ‘Why,’ if you object to ‘How.’ The only thing that finds me worrying is leaving that swine Caspar free.”