Did you ever silently ferment while listening politely to a man you wanted to assault ?" Duane laughed, then his eye by accident, caught a superscription on the packet of papers under Wilton's arm: Yo Espero! His glance reverted in a flash to Wilton's face.
The latter said: "I want to write a book entitled 'Gentleman I Have Kicked.' Of course I've only kicked 'em mentally; but my! what a list I have!--all sorts, all nations--from certain domestic and predatory statesmen to the cad who made his beautiful and sensitive mistress notorious in a decadent novel!--all kinds, Duane, have I kicked mentally I've just used my foot on another social favorite----" "Dysart!" said Duane, inspired, and, turning painfully red, begged Wilton's pardon.
"You've sure got a disconcerting way with you," admitted Wilton, very much out of countenance.
"It was rotten bad taste in me----" Wilton grinned with a wry face: "Nobody is standing much on ceremony these days.

Besides, I'm on to your trail, young man"-- tapping the bundle under his arm--"your eye happened to catch that superscription; no doubt your father has talked to you; and you came to--a rather embarrassing conclusion." Duane's serious face fell: "My father and I have not talked on that subject, Guy.

Are you going up to see him now ?" Wilton hesitated: "I suppose I am....

See here, Duane, how much do you know about--anything ?" "Nothing," he said without humour; "I'm beginning to worry over my father's health....

Guy, don't tell me anything that my father's son ought not to know; but is there something I should know and don't ?--anything in which I could possibly be of help to my father ?" Wilton looked carefully at a distant policeman for nearly a minute, then his meditative glance became focussed on vacancy.
"I--don't--know," he said slowly.