"
Cheever was half convinced and quite puzzled. He knew that Dyckman
had never forgiven him for marrying Charity. The feud had smoldered.
He could not conceive what should have revived it, unless Charity
had been talking. He had not thought of any one's punishing him for
neglecting her. But if Dyckman had enlisted in her cause--well,
Cheever was afraid of hardly anything in the world except boredom
and the appearance of fear. He answered Zada with a gruff:
"Let him find me if he wants to. Or since you know him so well,
tell me where he'll be, and I'll go find him."
He could hear Zada's strangled moan. How many times, since male
and female began, have women made wild, vain protests against
the battle-habit, the duel-tribunal? Mothers, daughters, wives,
mistresses, they have been seldom heard and have been forced to wait
remote in anguish till their man has come back or been brought back,
victorious or baffled or defeated, maimed, wounded, or dead.
It meant everything to Zada that her mate should not suffer either
death or publicity. But chiefly her love of him made outcry now. She
could not endure the vision of her beloved receiving the hammering
of the giant Dyckman.
The telephone crackled under the load of her prayers, but Cheever
had only one answer:
"If you want me to run away from him or anybody, you don't get your
wish, my darling."
Finally she shrieked, "If you don't come home I'll come there and
get you.
Pages:
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393