“Did you never find out where she went?” I asked.
“Nary a trace,” he said vindictively. “I hiked it over here to see if I could get on her tracks. They say if you wait long enough by the Caffay-day-la-Pay corner all the folks you’ve ever known will come along some day. Well, I’ve been waiting round there doing the guide business, but nary a trace.”
“What would you say if I told you where she is?”
“I should say you was a good pal.”
“Well, then, O’Flather, I saw her only this morning.”
“The blazes! Tell me where an’ I’ll start after her right now.”
“Easy on, my lad. Don’t get excited. Let’s talk the matter over coolly. I’m sure it’s the girl I saw in the doorway of your Exhibition that night. It struck me as so odd I inquired her name. Let me see; it was Guin ... Guin ... Ah! Guinoval.”
“By Christmas, that’s her; that’s her; curse her. Where is she?”
“Wait a bit; wait a bit, O’Flather. Revenge is a beautiful thing. I believe in it. If a man hits you hit him back, only harder. But while I approve your motive, I deprecate your method. It’s too primitive, my dear man, too brutally primitive.”
“Wot d’ye mean? D’ye think it’s too much to beat her up after the dirty trick she played me?”