"Well, damn it, man, are you dumb? What have you got to say?"
"I've said it, sir," Doak said quietly.
For long and silent seconds, Arnold glared at him. And then he said, "All right. I'll get my report from Ryder—and your job. Now get out."
Fine, great! Hero Doak Parker, of Security. Lion bearder, hair-splitter, cutter-of-his-own-throat, lover of a country lass. And man without a future, it looked like now.
The dogs slobbered and watched, the gravel grated under his feet. The great gates swung open and Doak took a deep breath of the warm clean air. Why did he feel so free?
Martha was sitting on the front porch. She looked up and smiled as he came near and he stooped to kiss her.
"Hey!" she said. "Watch it, city man." But she hadn't taken her lips away for a few seconds.
From his jacket pocket he took the Heritage Herald and tossed it in her lap. She looked down at it for seconds, then up to read his face. He said nothing.
"Last night," she said, "you got it. I missed it when I went upstairs, last night, but I thought someone else might have taken it."