Of late the old man had been spending it with
increasing freedom, constantly enlarging the comforts of the joint
menage. He had reached, in fact, a scale of living which constantly
thrust itself on Queed's consciousness as quite beyond the savings of a
poor old school teacher. And if this appearance were true, where did the
surplus come from?
The question had knocked unpleasantly at the young man's mind before
now. This morning he faced it, and pondered deeply. A way occurred to
him by which, possibly, he might turn a little light upon this problem.
He did not care to take it; he shrank from doing anything that might
seem like spying upon the man whose bread he broke thrice daily. Yet it
seemed to him that a point had now been reached where he owed his first
duty to himself.
"Come in," he said, looking around in response to a brisk knock upon his
shut door; and there entered Plonny Neal, whom Queed, through the
Mercury, knew very well now.
"Hi there, Doc! Playin' you was Horace Greeley?"
Mr. Neal opened the connecting door into West's office, glanced through,
found it empty, and shut the door again.
Pages:
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514