As Hal left, there arose, out of the turmoil, one clear voice of reason: the thundering baritone of Festus Willard moving an adjournment. It passed, and the gathering slowly dispersed. Avoiding the offered companionship of Congressman Harkins and Douglas, Dr. Surtaine took himself off by a side passage. At the end of it, alone, stood the Reverend Norman Hale, leaning against the sill of an open window. The old quack rushed upon him.
"Keep off!" warned the young minister, throwing himself into an attitude of defense.
"No, no," protested Dr. Surtaine: "don't think I meant that. I—I want to thank you."
"Thank me?" The minister put his hand to his head. "I don't understand."
"For leaving my boy out of it."
"Oh! That. I didn't see the necessity of dragging him in."
"That was kind. You handled me pretty rough. Well, I'm used to rough work. But the boy—look here, you knew all about this Milly Neal business, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Maybe you could tell me," went on the old quack miserably. "I can understand Hal's getting into a—an affair with the girl—being kinda carried away and losing his head. What I can't get is his—his quittin' her when she was in trouble."
"I still don't understand," protested the minister. "My head isn't very good. I've been ill, you know."