"You never told me you knew Courtlandt," said Harrigan, speaking to
Abbott.
"Just happened that way. We went to school together. When I was little
they used to make me wear curls and wide collars. Many's the time
Courtlandt walloped the school bullies for mussing me up. I don't see him
much these days. Once in a while he walks in. That's all. Always seems to
know where his friends are, but none ever knows where he is."
Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his friend's exploits. Nora heard,
as if from afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what the contest was
going to be. She could see only a little way; still, she was
optimistically confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed, now that
the shock of the meeting was past, she found herself not at all averse to
a conflict. It would be something to let go the pent-up wrath of two
years. Never would she speak to him directly; never would she permit him
to be alone with her; never would she miss a chance to twist his heart, to
humiliate him, to snub him. From her point of view, whatever game he chose
to play would be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised to learn how
eager she was for the game to begin so that she might gage his strength.
"So I have heard," she was dimly conscious of saying.
"Didn't know you knew," said Abbott.
"Knew what?" rousing herself.
"That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the eighties."
"In the eighties!" dismayed at her slip.
"Latitudes. Polar expedition."
"Heavens! I was miles away."
The padre took her hand in his own and began to pat it softly. It was the
nearest he dared approach in the way of suggesting caution. He alone of
them all knew.
"Oh, I believe I read something about it in the newspapers."
"Five years ago." Abbott set down his tea-cup. "He's the bravest man I
know. He's rather a friendless man, besides. Horror of money. Thinks every
one is after him for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income piles up
too quickly. See that Indian, passing the cakes? Wouldn't think it, would
you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back for five miles! The Indian
had fallen afoul a wounded tiger, and the beaters were miles off. I've
been watching. They haven't even spoken to each other. Courtlandt's
probably forgotten all about the incident, and the Indian would die rather
than embarrass his savior before strangers."
"Your friend, then, is quite a hero?"
What was the matter with Nora's voice? Abbott looked at her wonderingly.
The tone was hard and unmusical.
"He couldn't be anything else, being Dick Courtlandt's boy," volunteered
Harrigan, with enthusiasm. "It runs in the family."