Kindred of the Dust

by Peter B. Kyne

  XLVI

  Spring came. Overhead the wild geese flew in long wedges, honking,into the North, and The Laird remembered how Donald, as a boy, used toshoot at them with a rifle as they passed over The Dreamerie. Theirhonking wakened echoes in his heart. With the winter's supply of logsnow gone, logging operations commenced in the woods with renewedvigor, the river teemed with rafts, the shouts of the rivermen echoingfrom bank to bank. Both Tyee and Darrow were getting out spruce forthe government and ship timbers for the wooden shipyards along SanFrancisco Bay.

  Business had never been so brisk, and with the addition of the warduties that came to every community leader, The Laird found somesurcease from his heart-hunger. Mrs. McKaye and the girls had returnedto The Dreamerie, now that Donald's marriage had ceased to interestanybody but themselves, so old Hector was not so lonely. But--the flagwas flying again at the Sawdust Pile, each day of toil for The Lairdwas never complete without an eager search of the casualty listspublished in the Seattle papers.

  Spring lengthened into summer. The Marine casualties at Belleau Woodand Chateau-Thierry appalled The Laird; he read that twenty survivorsof a charge that started two hundred and fifty strong across the wheatfield at Bouresches had taken Bouresches and held it against threehundred of the enemy--led by Sergeant Daniel J. O'Leary, of PortAgnew, Washington! Good old Dirty Dan! At last he was finding alegitimate outlet for his talents! He would get the DistinguishedService Cross for that! The Laird wondered what Donald would receive.It would be terrible should Dirty Dan return with the Cross and DonaldMcKaye without it.

  In September, Donald appeared in the Casualty List as slightlywounded. Also, he was a first lieutenant now. The Laird breathedeasier, for his son would be out of it for a few months, no doubt. Itwas a severe punishment, however, not to be able to discuss hisgallant son with anybody. At home his dignity and a firm adherence tohis previous announcement that his son's name should never bementioned in his presence, forbade a discussion with Mrs. McKaye andthe girls; and when he weakly sparred for an opportunity with AndrewDaney, that stupid creature declined to rise to the bait, or evenadmit that he knew of Donald's commission. When told of it, heexpressed neither surprise nor approval.

  In November, the great influenza epidemic came to Port Agnew and tookheavy toll. It brought to The Laird a newer, a more formidabledepression. What if Donald's son should catch it and die, and Donaldbe deprived of the sight of his first-born? What if Nan should succumbto an attack of it while her husband was in France? In that eventwould Donald forgive and forget and come home to The Dreamerie?Somehow, old Hector had his doubts.

  For a long time now, he had felt a great urge to see Donald's son. Hehad a curiosity to discover whether the child favored the McKayes orthe Brents. If it favored the McKayes--well, perhaps he might makesome provision for its future in his will, and in order to provehimself a good sport he would leave an equal sum to Nan's illegitimatechild, which Donald had formally adopted a few days after his marriageto Nan. Why make fish of one and fowl of the other? he thought. Theywere both McKayes now, in the sight of the law, and for aught he knewto the contrary they were full brothers!

  The child became an obsession with him. He longed to weigh it andcompare its weight with that of Donald's at the same age--he had theancient record in an old memorandum book at the office. He speculatedon whether it had blue eyes or brown, whether it was a blond or abrunette. He wondered if Daney had seen it and wondering, at length heasked. Yes, Mr. Daney had seen the youngster several times, but beyondthat statement he would not go and The Laird's dignity forbade toodirect a probe. He longed to throttle Mr. Daney, who he now regardedas the most unsympathetic, prosaic, dull-witted old ass imaginable.

  He wanted to see that child! The desire to do so never left him duringhis waking hours and he dreamed of the child at night. So in the endhe yielded and went down to the Sawdust Pile, under cover of darkness,his intention being to sneak up to the little house and endeavor tocatch a glimpse of the child through the window. He was enraged todiscover, however, that Nan maintained a belligerent Airedale thatrefused, like all good Airedales, to waste his time and dignity inuseless barking. He growled--once, and The Laird knew he meant it, sohe got out of that yard in a hurry.

  He was in a fine rage as he walked back to the mill office and gotinto his car. Curse the dog! Was he to be deprived of a glimpse of hisgrandson by an insensate brute of a dog? He'd be damned if he was!He'd shoot the animal first--no, that would never do. Nan would comeout and he would be discovered. Moreover, what right had he to shootanybody's dog until it attacked him? The thing to do would be to putsome strychnine on a piece of meat--no, no, that would never do. Theperson who would poison a dog--any kind of a dog--

  It was a good dog. The animal certainly was acting within its legalrights. Yes, he knew now where Nan had gotten it. The dog had belongedto First Sergeant Daniel J. O'Leary of the Fifth Marines; he haddoubtless given it to Nan to keep for him when he went to the war; TheLaird knew Dan thought a great deal of that dog. His name was Jerryand he had aided Dirty Dan in more than one bar-room battle.

  Jerry, like his master, like the master of the woman he protected, wasa Devil-dog, and one simply cannot kill a soldier's dog for doing asoldier's duty. Should Jerry charge there would be no stopping himuntil he was killed, so The Laird saw very clearly that there was butone course open to him. If he marched through that gate and straightto the door, as if he meant business, as if he had a moral and legalright to be there on business, Jerry would understand and permit himto pass. But if he snooped in, like a thief in the night, and peeredin at a window--

  "I wish I had a suit of Fifteenth Century armour," he thought. "ThenJerry, you could chew on my leg and be damned to you. You're a silentdog and I could have a good look while you were wrecking your teeth."

  He went back to the Sawdust Pile at dusk the next evening, hopingJerry would be absent upon some unlawful private business, but when heapproached the gate slowly and noiselessly Jerry spoke up softly fromwithin and practically said: "Get out or take the consequences."

  The following night, however, The Laird was prepared for Jerry. He didnot halt at the dog's preliminary warning but advanced and rattled thegate a little. Immediately Jerry came to the gate and stood justinside growling in his throat, so The Laird thrust an atomizer throughthe palings and deluged Jerry's hairy countenance with a fine cloud ofspirits of ammonia. He had once tried that trick on a savage bulldogin which he desired to inculcate some respect for his person, and hadsucceeded beyond his most sanguine expectations. Therefore, sincedesperate circumstances always require desperate measures, the memoryof that ancient victory had moved him to attempt a similarembarrassment of the dog Jerry.

  But Jerry was a devil-dog. He had been raised and trained by Dirty DanO'Leary and in company with that interesting anthropoid he had beenthrough many stormy passages. Long before, he had learned that theoffensive frequently wins--the defensive never. It is probable that hewept as he sniffed the awful stuff, but if he did they were tears ofrage.

  Jerry's first move was to stand on his head and cover his face withhis paws. Then he did several back flips and wailed aloud in hismisery and woe, his yelps of distress quite filling the empyrean. Butonly for the space of a few seconds. Recovering his customary aplombhe made a flying leap for the top of the gate, his yelps now succeededby ambitious growls--and in self-defense The Laird was forced to sprayhim again as he clung momentarily on top of the palings. With a sobJerry dropped back and buried his nose in the dust, while The Lairdbeat a hurried retreat into the darkness, for he had lost allconfidence in his efforts to inculcate in Jerry an humble and contritespirit.

  He could hear rapid footsteps inside the little house; then the dooropened and in the light that streamed from within he was indistinctlyvisible to Nan as she stood in the doorway.

  "Jerry!" he heard her call. "Good dog! What's the matter? After him,Jerry. Go get him, Jerry!" She ran to the gate and opened it for thedog, who darted through, but paused again to r
un his afflicted nose inthe dust and roll a couple of times. Apparently he felt that there wasno great hurry; his quarry could not escape him. It is probable, also,that he was more or less confused and not quite certain whichdirection the enemy had taken, for Jerry's sense of smell wastemporarily suspended and his eyes blinded by tears; certain hislanguage was not at all what it should have been.

  The Laird ran blindly, apprehensively, but for a very short distance.Suddenly he bumped into something quite solid, which closed around himviciously. "Halt, damn you," a commanding voice cried.

  Despite his years, Hector McKaye was no weakling, and in the knowledgethat he could not afford to be captured and discovered, seemingly heslipped forty years from his shoulders. Once more he was a lumberjack,the top dog of his district--and he proceeded to fight like one. Hisold arms rained punches on the midriff of the man who held him and heknew they stung cruelly, for at every punch the man grunted and stroveto clinch him tighter and smother the next blow. "Let go me or I'llkill you," The Laird panted. "Man dinna drive me to it." He ceased hisrain of blows, grasped his adversary and tried to wrestle him down. Hesucceeded, but the man would not stay down. He wriggled out withamazing ease and had old Hector with his shoulders touching before TheLaird's heaving chest and two terrible thumbs closed down on each ofThe Laird's eyes, with four powerful fingers clasping his face liketalons. "Quit, or I'll squeeze your eyeballs out," a voice warned him.

  The Laird's hand beat the ground beside him. He had surrendered to amaster of his style of fighting. With something of the air of anexpert, his conqueror ran a quick hand over him, seeking for weapons,and finding none, he grasped The Laird by the collar and jerked him tohis feet. "Now, then, my hearty, I'll have a look at you," he said."You'll explain why you're skulking around here and abusing that dog!"

  The Laird quivered as he found himself being dragged toward the streamof light, in the center of which Nan Brent stood silhouetted. He couldnot afford this and he was not yet defeated.

  "A thousand dollars if you let me go now," he panted. "I have themoney in my pocket. Ask yon lass if I've done aught wrong."

  His captor paused and seemed to consider this. "Make it ten thousandand I'll consider it," he whispered. "Leave it on the mail box justoutside the Tyee Lumber Company's office at midnight to-morrow night."

  "I'll do it--so help me God," The Laird promised frantically.

  His son's voice spoke in his ear. "Dad! You low-down, worthlesslovable old fraud!"

  "My son! My son!" Old Hector's glad cry ended in a sob. "Oh, my sonnyboy, my bonny lad! I canna stand it. I canna! Forgie me, lad, forgieme--and ask her to forgie me!" His old arms were around his son's neckand he was crying on Donald's shoulder, unashamed. "I was trying for alook at the bairn," he cried brokenly, "and 'twas a privilege Godwould nae gie me seeing that I came like a sneak and not like anhonest man. The damned dog--he knew! Och, Donald, say ye forgie ye'reauld faither. Say it, lad. Ma heart's breakin'."

  "Why, bless your bare-shanked old Scotch soul, of course I forgiveyou. I never held any grudge, you know. I simply stood pat until youcould see things through my eyes."

  "Is that you, Donald?" Nan called.

  "Aye, aye, sweetheart. Dad's here. He wants to know if you regard himas a particularly terrible old man. I think he's afraid you willrefuse to let him look at Laird Hector, Thirteenth."

  "Man, man," the old man urged, quite shocked at this casual greetingof a returned hero to his wife, "go to her, lad. She'll not relishfavoritism."

  "Oh, this isn't our first meeting, Dad. I got home yesterday. I havethirty days leave. They sent me home as an instructor in small armspractice and gave me a boost in rank. I was just up town for abeefsteak and I've lost the beefsteak battling with you."

  The Laird wiped his eyes and got control of himself. Presently hesaid: "Keep that blessed dog off me," and started resolutely for thefront gate. Without a moment's hesitation he folded Nan in his armsand kissed her. "Poor bairn," he whispered. "I've been cruel to you.Forgie me, daughter, if so be you can find it in your heart to be thatgenerous. God knows, lass, I'll try to be worthy of you."

  "Am I worthy of him?" she whispered, womanlike.

  "Far more than his father is," he admitted humbly. "Damn the world anddamn the people in it. You're a good girl, Nan. You always were a goodgirl--"

  "But suppose she wasn't--always?" Donald queried gently. "Is thatgoing to make any difference--to you?"

  "I don't care what she was before you married her. I haven't thoughtabout that for a long time the way I used to think about it. I builtThe Dreamerie for you and the girl you'd marry and I--I accept herunconditionally, my son, and thank God she has the charity to acceptan old Pharisee like me for a father-in-law."

  Donald slipped his arm around Nan's waist, and started with her towardthe door. "Tag along, father," he suggested, "and Nan will show you aprize grandson."

  At the door, Nan paused. "Do you think, father McKaye," she queried,"that the remainder of the family will think as you do?"

  "I fear not," he replied sadly. "But then, you haven't married thefamily. They'll accept you or keep out of Port Agnew; at any ratethey'll never bother you, my dear. I think," he added grimly, "that Imay find a way to make them treat you with civility at least."

  "He's a pretty good old sport after all, isn't he, Nan?" her husbandsuggested.

  "I'll tell the world he is," she answered archly, employing the A.E.F.slang she had already learned from Donald. She linked her arm in oldHector's and steered him down the hall to the living-room. "Yourgrandson is in there," she said, and opening the door she gentlypropelled him into the room.

  XLVII

  Nan was right. His grandson was there, but strange to relate he wasseated, as naked as Venus (save for a diaper) on his grandmother'slap.

  Hector McKaye paused and glared at his wife.

  "Damn it, Nellie," he roared, "what the devil do you mean by this?"

  "I'm tired of being an old fool, Hector," she replied meekly, and heldthe baby up for his inspection.

  "It's time you were," he growled. "Come here, you young rascal till Iheft you. By the gods of war, he's a McKaye!" He hugged the squirmingyoungster to his heart and continued to glare at his wife as if shewere a hardened criminal. "Why didn't you tell me you felt yourselfslipping?" he demanded. "Out with it, Nellie."

  "There will be no post-mortems," Nan interdicted. "Mother McKaye andElizabeth and Jane and I patched up our difficulties when Donald camehome yesterday. How we did it or what transpired before we did it,doesn't matter, you dear old snooper."

  "What? Elizabeth and Jane? Unconditional surrender?"

  She nodded smilingly and The Laird admitted his entire willingness tobe--jiggered. Finally, having inspected his grandson, he turned for anequally minute inspection of his soldier son under the lamplight.

  "Three service stripes and one wound stripe," he murmured. "Andyou're not crippled, boy dear?"

  "Do I fight like one? Hector, man, those punches of yours would havedestroyed a battalion of cripples. Oh, you old false-alarm! Honestly,Dad, you're the most awful dub imaginable. And trying to bribe me intopermitting you to escape--what the deuce have you been monkeying with?You reek of ammonia--here, go away from my son. You're poison."

  The Laird ignored him. "What's that ribbon?" he demanded.

  "Distinguished Service Cross."

  "You must have bought it in a pawnshop. And that thing?"

  "Croix de Guerre."

  "And that red one?"

  "Legion d'Honneur."

  A pause. "What did Dirty Dan get, son?"

  "The one thing in the world he thought he despised. The CongressionalMedal of Honor for valor in saving the life of a British colonel, who,by the way, happens to be an Orangeman. When he discovered it hewanted to bayonet the colonel and I won the Croix de Guerre forstopping him."

  "Oh, cease your nonsense, Donald," his wife urged, "and tell yourfather and mother something. I think they are entitled to the newsnow."

&nb
sp; "Yes, Nan, I think they are. Listen, folks. Now that you've all beennice enough to be human beings and accept my wife at her face value, Ihave a surprise for you. On the day when Nan married the father of myadopted son, he waited until the officiating minister had signed themarriage license and attested that he had performed the ceremony; thenwhile the minister's attention was on something else, he tookpossession of the license and put it in his overcoat pocket. Later heand Nan drove to a restaurant for luncheon and the overcoat with thelicense in the pocket was stolen, from the automobile. The thiefpawned the coat later and the pawnbroker discovered the license in thepocket after the thief had departed. The following day the fellow wasarrested in the act of stealing another overcoat; the pawnbroker readof the arrest and remembered he had loaned five dollars on an overcoatto a man who gave the same name this thief gave to the police. So thepawnbroker--"

  "I am not interested, my son. I require no proofs."

  "Thank you for that, father. But you're entitled to them and you'regoing to get them. The pawnbroker found on the inside lining of theinner breast pocket of the overcoat the tag which all tailors sewthere when, they make the garment. This tag bore the name of the ownerof the overcoat, his address and the date of delivery of theovercoat."

  "Now, the pawnbroker noticed that the man who owned the overcoat wasnot the person named in the marriage license. Also he noticed that themarriage license was attested by a minister but that it had not beenrecorded by the state board of health, as required by law--and thepawnbroker was aware that marriage licenses are not permitted, by law,to come into the possession of the contracting parties until the factthat they have been legally married has been duly recorded on theevidence of the marriage--which is, of course, the marriage license."

  "Why didn't the idiot send the license back to the minister who hadperformed the ceremony?" The Laird demanded. "Then this tangle wouldnever have occurred."

  "He says he thought of that, but he was suspicious. It was barelypossible that the officiating clergyman had connived at the theft ofthe license from his desk, so the pawnbroker, who doubtless possessesthe instincts of an amateur detective, resolved to get the licenseinto the hands of Nan Brent direct. Before doing so, however, he wroteto the man named in the license and sent his letter to the addresstherein given. In the course of time that letter was returned by thepost-office department with the notation that the location of theaddressee was unknown. The pawnbroker then wrote to the man whose nameappeared on the tailor's tag in the overcoat, and promptly received areply. Yes, an overcoat had been stolen from his automobile on acertain date. He described the overcoat and stated that the marriagelicense of a friend of his might be found in the breast pocket,provided the thief had not removed it. If the license was there hewould thank the pawnbroker to forward it to him. He enclosed a checkto redeem the overcoat and pay the cost of forwarding it to him byparcel post, insured. The pawnbroker had that check photographedbefore cashing it and he forwarded the overcoat but retained themarriage license, for he was more than ever convinced that things werenot as they should have been.

  "His next move was to write Miss Nan Brent, at Port Agnew, Washington,informing her of the circumstances and advising her that he had hermarriage certificate. This letter reached Port Agnew at the time Nanwas living in San Francisco, and her father received it. He merelyscratched out Port Agnew, Washington, and substituted for thataddress: 'Care of---- using Nan's married name, Altamont Apartments,San Francisco.'

  "By the time that letter reached San Francisco Nan had left thataddress, but since she planned a brief absence only, she left noforwarding address for her mail. That was the time she came north tovisit her father and in Seattle she discovered that her supposedhusband was already married. I have told you, father, and you havedoubtless told mother, Nan's reasons for refusing to disclose thisman's identity at that time.

  "Of course Nan did not return to San Francisco, but evidently herhusband did and at their apartment he found this letter addressed toNan. He opened it, and immediately set out for San Jose to call uponthe pawnbroker and gain possession of the marriage license. Unknown tohim, however, his lines were all tangled and the pawnbroker told himfrankly he was a fraud and declined to give him the license. Finallythe pawnbroker tried a bluff and declared that if the man did not getout of his place of business he would have him arrested as abigamist--and the fellow fled.

  "A month or two later the pawnbroker was in San Francisco so he calledat the Altamont Apartments to deliver the license in person, only todiscover that the person he sought had departed and that her addresswas unknown. So he wrote Nan again, using her married name andaddressed her at Port Agnew, Washington. You will remember, of course,that at this time Nan's marriage was not known to Port Agnew, she hadkept it secret. Naturally the postmaster here did not know anybody bythat name, and in due course, when the letter remained unclaimed hedid not bother to advertise it but returned it to the sender."

  "It doesn't seem possible," Mrs. McKaye declared, quite pop-eyed withexcitement.

  "It was possible enough," her son continued drily. "Well, thebewildered pawnbroker thrust the license away in his desk, and awaitedthe next move of the man in the case. But he never moved, and after awhile the pawnbroker forgot he had the license. And the minister wasdead. One day, in cleaning out his desk he came across the accumulatedpapers in the case and it occurred to him to write the state board ofhealth and explain the situation. Promptly he received a letter fromthe board informing him that inquiries had been made at the board ofhealth office for a certified copy of the license, by Miss Nan Brent,of Port Agnew, Washington, and that the board had been unable tofurnish such a certified copy. Immediately our obliging andintelligent pawnbroker, whose name, by the way, is Abraham Goldman,bundled up the marriage license, together with the carbon copy of thepawn ticket he had given the thief; a press clipping from the San Jose_Mercury_ recounting the story of the capture of the thief; carboncopies of all his correspondence in the case, the original of allletters received, the photograph of the check--everything, in fact, toprove a most conclusive case through the medium of a well-ordered andamazing chain of optical and circumstantial evidence. This evidence hesent to Miss Brent, Port Agnew, Washington, and she received it abouta week before I married her. Consequently, she was in position toprove to the most captious critic that she was a woman of undoubtedvirtue, the innocent victim of a scoundrel who had inveigled her intoa bigamous marriage. Of course, in view of the fact that the man shewent through a legal marriage ceremony with already had a wife living,Nan's marriage to him was illegal--how do you express it? Ipso factoor per se? In the eyes of the law she had never been married; the manin the case was legally debarred from contracting another marriage.The worst that could possibly be said of Nan was that she played inmighty hard luck."

  "In the name of heaven, why did you not tell me this the day youmarried her?" The Laird demanded wrathfully.

  "I didn't know it the day I married her. She was curious enough towant to see how game I was. She wanted to be certain I truly lovedher, I think--and in view of her former experience I do not blame herfor it. It pleased you a whole lot, didn't it, honey?" he added,turning to Nan, "when I married you on faith?"

  "But why didn't you tell us after you had discovered it, Donald?" Mrs.McKaye interrupted. "That was not kind of you, my son."

  "Well," he answered soberly, "in the case of you and the girls Ididn't think you deserved it. I kept hoping you and the girls wouldconfess to Dad that you telephoned Nan to come back to Port Agnew thattime I was sick with typhoid--"

  "Eh? What's that?" The Laird sat up bristling.

  Mrs. McKaye flushed scarlet and seemed on the verge of tears. Donaldwent to her and took her in his arms. "Awfully sorry to have to peachon you, old dear," he continued. "Do not think Nan told on you,Mother. She didn't. I figured it all out by myself. However, as Istarted to remark, I expected you would confess and that yourconfession would start a family riot, in the midst of it I knewfather would rise up and
declare himself. I give you my word, Dad,that for two weeks before I went to work up at Darrow I watched andwaited all day long for you to come down here and tell Nan it was abet and that we'd play it as it lay."

  Old Hector gritted his teeth and waged his head sorrowfully. "Nellie,"he warned his trembling wife, "this is what comes of a lack ofconfidence between man and wife."

  She flared up at that. "Hush, you hypocrite. At least I haven'tsnooped around here trying to poison dogs and kill people when I wasdiscovered playing Peeping Tom. A pretty figure you've cut throughoutthis entire affair. Didn't I beg you not to be hard on our poor boy?"

  "Yes, you had better lay low, Father," Donald warned him. "You've beenmarried long enough to know that if you start anything with a womanshe'll put it all over you. We will, therefore, forget Mother's errorand concentrate on you. Remember the night I dragged you ashore atDarrow's log boom? Well, permit me to tell you that you're a prettyheavy tow and long before my feet struck bottom I figured on twoWidows McKaye. If I'd had to swim twenty feet further I would havelost out. Really, I thought you'd come through after that."

  "I would if you'd waited a bit," old Hector protested miserably. "Youought to know I never do things in a hurry."

  "Well, I do, Dad, but all the same I grew weary waiting for you. ThenI made up my mind I'd never tell you about Nan until you and Motherand the girls had completely reversed yourselves and taken Nan forthe woman she is and not the woman you once thought she was."

  "Well, you've won, haven't you?" The Laird's voice was very husky.

  "Yes, I have; and it's a sweet victory, I assure you."

  "Then shut up. Shut up, I tell you."

  "All right! I'm through--forever."

  The Laird bent his beetling brows upon Nan. "And you?" he demanded."Have you finished?"

  She came to him and laid her soft cheek against his. "You funny oldman," she whispered. "Did you ever hear that I had begun?"

  "Well, nae, I have not--now that you mention it. And, by the way, mydear! Referring to my grandson's half-brother?"

  "Yes."

  "I understand he's a McKaye."

  "Yes, Donald has legally adopted him."

  "Well, then, I'll accept him as an adopted grandson, my dear. I thinkthere'll be money enough for everybody. But about this scalawag of aman that fathered him. I'll have to know who he is. We have a suit ofzebra clothing waiting for him, my dear."

  "No, you haven't, Father McKaye. My boy's father is never going to bea convict. That man has other children, too."

  "I'm going to have a glass frame made and in it I'm going to arrangephotographic reproductions of all the documents in Nan's case," Donaldstated. "The history of the case will all be there, then, with theexception, of course, of the name of the man. In deference to Nan'sdesires I will omit that. Then I'll have that case screwed into thewall of the post-office lobby where all Port Agnew can see andunderstand--"

  "Nellie," The Laird interrupted, "please stop fiddling with that babyand dress him. Daughter, get my other grandson ready, and you, Donald,run over to the mill office. My car is standing there. Bring it hereand we'll all go home to The Dreamerie--yes, and tell Daney to come upand help me empty a bottle to--to--to my additional family. He'llbring his wife, of course, but then we must endure the bitter with thesweet. Good old file, Daney. None better."

  Donald put on his cap and departed. As the front gate closed behindhim Hector McKaye sprang up and hurried out of the house after him."Hey, there, son," he called into the darkness, "What was that yousaid about a glass case?"

  Donald returned and repeated the statement of his plan.

  "And you're going to the trouble of explaining to this sorry world,"the old man cried sharply. "Man, the longest day she lives there'll bebrutes that will say 'twas old man McKaye's money that framed an alibifor her.' Son, no man or woman was ever so pure that some hypocritedidn't tread 'em under foot like dust and regard them as such. Lad,your wife will always be dust to some folks, but--we're kindred toher--so what do we care? We understand. Do not explain to the damnedPharisees. They wouldn't understand. Hang that thing in thepost-office lobby and some superior person will quote Shakespeare, andsay: 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.'"

  "Then you would advise me to tell the world to go to--"

  "Exactly, sonny, exactly."