His mind was busy as he packed his suitcase. Already he had forgotten
his compunctions of the early morning; he moved about methodically,
calculating roughly what expense money he would need, and the line of
attack, if any, required at the office. Between Norada and that old
brick house at Haverly lay his story. Ten years of it. He was closing
his bag when he remembered the little girl in the blue dress, at the
theater. He straightened and scowled. After a moment he snapped the bag
shut. Damn it all, if Clark had chosen to He up with a girl, that was on
Clark's conscience, not his.
But he was vaguely uncomfortable.
"It's a queer world, Joe," he observed to the waiter, who had come in
for the breakfast dishes.
"Yes, sir. It is that," said Joe.