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He was in arms at once a night or two before Dick had invited Elizabeth
to go to the theater when Margaret Wheeler said: "The house was gayer when Nina was at home."
"Yes. And you were pretty sick of it. Full of roistering young idiots.
Piano and phonograph going at once, pairs of gigglers in the pantry
at the refrigerator, pairs on the stairs and on the verandah,
cigar-ashes--my cigars--and cigarettes over everything, and more
infernal spooning going on than I've ever seen in my life."
He had resumed his newspaper, to put it down almost at once.
"What's that Sayre boy hanging around for?"
"I think he's in love with her, Walter."
"Love? Any of the Sayre tribe? Jim Sayre drank himself to death, and
this boy is like him. And Jim Sayre wasn't faithful to his wife. This
boy is--well, he's an heir. That's why he was begotten."
Margaret Wheeler stared at him.
"Why, Walter!" she said. "He's a nice boy, and he's a gentleman."
"Why? Because he gets up when you come into the room? Why in
heaven's name don't you encourage real men to come here? There's Dick
Livingstone. He's a man."
Margaret hesitated.
"Walter, have you ever thought there was anything queer about Dick
Livingstone's coming here?"
"Darned good for the town that he did come."
"But--nobody ever dreamed that David and Lucy had a nephew. Then he
turns up, and they send him to medical college, and all that."
"I've got some relations I haven't notified the town I possess," he said
grimly.
"Well, there's something odd. I don't believe Henry Livingstone, the
Wyoming brother, ever had a son."
"What possible foundation have you for a statement like that?"
"Mrs. Cook Morgan's sister-in-law has been visiting her lately. She says
she knew Henry Livingstone well years ago in the West, and she never
heard he was married. She says positively he was not married."
"And trust the Morgan woman to spread the good news," he said with angry
sarcasm. "Well, suppose that's true? Suppose Dick is an illegitimate
child? That's the worst that's implied, I daresay. That's nothing
against Dick himself. I'll tell the world there's good blood on the
Livingstone side, anyhow."
"You were very particular about Wallie Sayre's heredity, Walter."
"That's different," he retorted, and retired into gloomy silence behind
his newspaper. Drat these women anyhow. It was like some fool female to
come there and rake up some old and defunct scandal. He'd stand up for
Dick, if it ever came to a show-down. He liked Dick. What the devil did
his mother matter, anyhow? If this town hadn't had enough evidence of
Dick Livingstone's quality the last few years he'd better go elsewhere.
He-He got up and whistled for the dog.