Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically.
"Do you know what I believe?"
"No," truthfully.
"I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington."
"You don't mean it!"
"He's always around there. He must have thought a great deal of his
aunt. She was buried to-day, and there he is, playing billiards with
John Bennington. If that isn't heartlessness!"
"What do you want a man to do?" growled her husband from behind his
cigar. "Sit in a dark room and wring his hands all day, like a woman?
Men have other things to do in life than mourn the departed."
"Franklyn? I didn't see you."
"You seldom do."
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion,
the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his native
irony was concerned.
That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. He
possessed large interests in the local breweries. Breweries on the
average do not pay very good dividends on stock, so the brewer often
establishes a dozen saloons about town to help the business along.
McQuade owned a dozen or more of these saloons, some in the heart of
the city, some in the outlying wards of the town.
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