"Sure," Miss M'Gann broke in warmly; "now a lot of us girls are going up to Plum Lake, Michigan, for four weeks. It would be good for her to be with a nice party—"
"We will see," the doctor said coldly.
Later Miss M'Gann said to one of her friends: "Talkin' to him is like rubbing noses with an iceberg. He's one of your regular freeze-you-up, top-notchy eastern swells."
"Perhaps it would be well if Mrs. Preston came here to stay with you for a few days. I will ask her," Sommers suggested, as he shook hands.
"Certainly," Miss M'Gann replied warmly, "first-class house, good society, reasonable rates, and all that."
But the doctor was bowing himself out.
'He's taking some interest in the fair widow's welfare,' Miss M'Gann commented, as she watched him from behind the hall-door curtain. 'I hope he won't get the d. t.'s like number one, and live off her. Think she'd have had warning to wait a reasonable time.'
Meantime Sommers was musing over the "breezy" and "lively" Miss M'Gann, who, he judged, contributed much to the gayety of the Keystone Hotel. He had been hasty in suggesting that Alves might find a refuge in the Keystone. It would be for a few days, however, for he planned—he was rather vague about what he had planned. He wondered if there would be much of Miss M'Gann in the future, their future, and he longed to get away, to take Alves and fly.
He was tired; the sun was relentless. But he must make arrangements to sell his horse as soon as possible, and to give up his rooms. For the first time in his life he was conscious that he wanted to talk with a man, to see some friend. But of all the young professional men he had met in Chicago, there was not one he could think of approaching. On his way to his rooms he passed the Lake Front Park, where some companies of troops were encamped. Tents were flapping in the breeze, a Gatling gun had been placed, and sentries mounted. The bronzed young soldiers brought in from the plains were lounging about, watching the boulevard, and peering up at the massive walls of the Auditorium. The street was choked with curious spectators, among whom were many strikers. The crowd gaped and commented.
"They'll shoot," one of the onlookers said almost proudly. "There ain't no use in foolin' with the reg'lars. Those fellows'd pop you or me as soon as a jack-rabbit or a greasy Injun."