“I’m looking for you to buy the rest. My equity is on the market. The Public Square is alive, but it’s not my fault.”
“Whose?”
“Didn’t they tell you that ‘The Weekly’ was away?”
Dicky looked bewildered. A glint of the old humor had come back to John Higgins’ eyes, as he added:
“The woman thou gavest me.”
“You mean about Pidge Musser being called to Los Angeles?”
“Suddenly discovered she had a father who couldn’t be denied. Ripped out of here on the fifth and left a hole in every department.... They say I’m done with the desk for a time. I knew it without them telling me. I’d have had to wire her to-day or to-morrow to come back, if you hadn’t turned up.”
Dicky’s thoughts now became busy adjusting to the fact that John Higgins wasn’t returning to the desk at once.
“I know when I’m done,” the old man repeated. “It’s taken nearly sixty years, but I know. You’ve heard about the serpent that stings itself to death in captivity?”
“It’s just the chafing of the muzzle, John. You’re not stinging yourself to death——”