A FEW days after the report of Dora Barry’s fall had permeated¹ Stafford from the town’s centre to its scattering² outskirts³, and the beautiful girl’s disgrace had been duly recorded as the now certain explanation of Fred Walton’s flight, it came to his father’s ears in a rather indirect manner. Old Simon was erroneously supposed to have learned the truth, even before it became town-talk; for it was vaguely⁴ whispered that the banker had been so moved by Mrs. Barry’s personal appeal to him in behalf of her daughter that he had called in the sheriff with the intention of having his son held to honor by sheer force, but for some reason had refrained from taking action.

There are individuals in every community, too, who are bold enough to mention a delicate topic even to those most sensitively concerned, and as old Walton was going to the bank on the morning in question Bailey Thornton, a man of great size, who kept a grocery where the banker bought his supplies, essayed a jest as he passed the old man’s morning cigar to him over the showcase. The bystanders thoroughly⁵ understood what was meant, as was evinced by the hearty⁶ laugh which went round, but the old man didn’t.

“Don’t be hard on the boy, Mr. Walton,” Thornton added, and he smiled broadly enough to explain any ordinary innuendo⁷. “Remember your own young days. I’ll bet Fred came by it honestly. The whole town knows the truth; there is no good in trying to hide it. Tell him it is all right, and make him come back home.”

Old Simon grunted⁸ and walked on, flushing under the irritating chorus of laughter which followed him out of the store. “Come by it honestly!” he repeated. “What could the

分享到：