Physically the minister was no coward. He measured the slight, wiry
figure of his wrathful opponent with a coolly appraising eye.
"My relations with Miss Orr are none of your business," he reminded
Jim. "As for your sister--"
"Damn you!" cried Jim.
The minister shrugged his shoulders.
"If you'll listen to reason," he suggested pacifically.
"I saw you kiss my sister's hand! I tell you I'll not have you
hanging around the place, after what's gone. You may as well
understand it."
Wesley Elliot reflected briefly.
"There's one thing you ought to know," he said, controlling his
desire to knock Fanny's brother into the bushes.
A scornful gesture bade him to proceed.
"Andrew Bolton came to see me in the parsonage this morning. He is a
ruined man, in every sense of the word. He will never be otherwise."
Jim Dodge thrust both hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his eyes
fixed and frowning.
"Well," he murmured; "what of that?"
"That being the case, all we can do is to make the best of
things--for her.... She requested me to make the facts known in the
village. They would have found out everything from the man himself.
He is--perhaps you are aware that Bolton bitterly resents his
daughter's interference. She would have been glad to spare him the
pain of publicity."
The minister's tone was calm, even judicial; and Jim Dodge suddenly
experienced a certain flat humiliation of spirit.
"I didn't know she asked you to tell," he muttered, kicking a pebble
out of the way.
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