"Sit down and let's talk. Is he mad? . . .
I don't like it."
NIGHT THE NINTH.
THE HUNT IS UP.
Well, I thought it over, and talked it over with Jimmy, and decided
that, much as I loved Jack Foe, he'd have to be more explicit with me
before I undertook this stewardship. You will say that, this being
the only decent decision open, I might have done without the thinking
and the talking. . . . And that's true enough. But, you see, I had
lived with Jack pretty long and pretty close, and this was the first
time I'd ever taken a miss with him. If anyone for the past ten or
fifteen years had suggested to me, concerning Jack Foe, that a day
might come when I shouldn't know where to find him, I--well, I should
have lost my temper. It was inconceivable, even now. I told myself
that, though he had expressly given me leave to invite Jimmy to the
breakfast, he had taken a fit of reticence in Jimmy's presence and
had shied off; that I should get more out of him when we were alone
together. . . . Is that good English, by the way? Can two persons be
alone? .
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