“He's the son of the biggest one of them all,” said Kedzie.
“And you know him?”
“Do I know him? Doesn't he want to marry me? Isn't that the whole trouble? He's coming here this evening.”
To Adna, the humble railroad claim-agent, the careless tossing off of the great railroad name of Dyckman was what it would have been to a rural parson to hear Kedzie remark:
“I'm giving a little dinner to-night to my friends Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Mr. Apostle Paul.”
When the shaken wits of the parents began to return to a partial calm they remembered that Kedzie had mentioned somebody named Gilfoyle—Gargoyle would have been a better name for him, since he grinned down in mockery upon a cathedral of hope.
Adna whispered, “When did you divorce—the other feller?”
“I didn't; that's the trouble.”
“Why don't you?”
“I can't find him.”