Instead of passing through the office, Kirk mounted to the porch
of the Tivoli and entered his room from the outside, as he and
Chiquita had done earlier that evening. He found Allan waiting,
and bursting with a desire to gossip, but cut him short.
"Get my street-clothes, I'm going out." He tore the white tie from
his throat as if it were choking him.
"It is too late, sar. You will be h'exposing yourself to a fever
in the mist," expostulated the boy; but Kirk would not hear
argument.
"Come along if you want to, I can't sleep. I want to walk--walk
until I'm tired."
Mystified and frightened at this behavior, Allan obeyed. "Never
have I h'observed you so h'angry, boss," he observed. "Is it Ramon
Alfarez?" His eyes began to roll in excitement, for the spectacle
of his master's agitation never failed to work upon him
powerfully.
"No, not Ramon; another. I've been hurt, Allan. I can't explain,
for you wouldn't understand, but I've been hurt."
The negro's lips drew apart in an expression of ape-like ferocity,
and he began to chatter threats of vengeance, to which Kirk paid
little heed. A few moments later they went out quietly, and
together took the rock road down toward the city, the one silent
and desperate, the other whining like a hound nearing a scent.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462