Apperson was listening quietly, his empty pipe upside down in his mouth.
“Mrs. Tuttle, a woman I nursed when she was sick, sent her little boy to tell me. To these people, the fact that you and I have been friendly means that we must be sweethearts, so she wanted to warn me. She isn’t a Calley herself, although she’s kin to them.”
Gail was talking with breathless speed, as though laboring under almost unbearable tension. She went on: “I came right up, without telling a soul. You’d better start for East Point right off.”
“No, I guess we’ll have to guard the old ship, Gail.”
“But you don’t know these Calleys! They’re bad! What chance will you have against six men? I didn’t know what to do. All the men in East Point are either with them or afraid of them. It would be suicide for anyone like my uncle to take a hand in it, Lieutenant Hemingwood. But you could come down to East Point for the night, and—”
“No! We’ll stay. And there’s nothing to worry about,” declared Hemingwood. “Gail, you’re a brick. You’re a whole mansion of bricks. Now you turn right around and gallop home before you get mixed in it yourself. I’ll thank you later.”
“You can’t stay!” she said, the hint of a sob in her voice. “I tell you those Calleys—”
“Please run along, Gail. And I tell you we’ll be all right. If I didn’t think so. I’d light out. I’m not hankering to commit suicide.”
Finally, after Hemingwood had outlined his plans, she did go, but not before she had exhausted every means of persuasion at her command. Hemingwood had a hard time to keep her from staying nearby to see what happened and then she announced that she’d tell her uncle and that they would both be back, which Hemingwood likewise vetoed.