Upon his own side of the ticket window, the agent pared his nails with his pocket-knife and watched him furtively.
"Oh, hell! What do I care, anyway ?" Revulsion seized Ford harshly.

"I guess I can stand it if she can.

She came here and married me--it isn't my funeral any more than it is hers.

If she wants to be so darned mysterious about it, she can go plumb--to--New York!" There were a few decent traits in Ford Campbell; one was his respect for women, a respect which would not permit him to swear about this wife of his, however exasperating her behavior.
"That's the sensible way to look at it, of course," assented the agent, who made it a point to agree always with a man of Ford's size and caliber, on the theory that amiability means popularity, and that placation is better than plasters.

"You sure ought to let her do the hunting--and the worrying, too.