Bruce's hand dropped.
“Now, don't get ugly, Hunch. I just wanted to know about her. I ain't seen her for a good while.”
“Well, do you think that's my fault? I'll tell you about her. She's fixed up where she's got enough to eat and drink, she's got people to talk to and chirp her up, and she's waiting for you to come down next Sunday. If you're man enough to keep straight and go down there and do the square thing, you won't find me in your way. If you ain't, you can go to hell for all I care.”
Bruce was silent, and they climbed to the room and went to bed.
A day or two later Mr. Jackson sent for Hunch.
“Badeau,” he said, “how about this man Considine?”
“How do you mean?”
“What kind of work is he doing?”
“All right as far's I can see.”
“He's a friend of yours, ain't he?”