Again imbecile and insensate What did it all matter?
He stopped short.

He would sit down and write a letter to Mrs.
Baske .-- A pretty complication, that! What grounds for such a letter as he meditated?
The devil! Had he not a stronger will than Reuben Elgar?
If he wished to carry a point with such a weakling, was he going to let himself be thwarted?
Grant it was help only for a few days, no matter; Elgar should go with him.
He walked back to the garden.

Good; there the fellow loitered, obviously irresolute.
"Elgar, you'd better come, after all," he said, with a grim smile.

"I want to have some talk with you.

Let us pay our shot, and walk on to the station." "What kind of talk, Mallard ?" "Various.