"
Charlie Webster grew more and more thoughtful under the weight of
indignity.
"I certainly missed my guess as to that feller," he remarked to
Doc Simpson and Hatch one day. "I had him sized up as a different
sort of feller altogether. Why, up to a couple of weeks ago, he
was as nice as pie to all of us,--'specially to me. He used to come
over to my office and sit around for hours, chatting and smoking
cigarettes and joshing like a good feller. But I've got it all
figgered out, boys. He was simply workin' me. He always led the
conversation round to Alix Crown, and then, like a dern' fool, I'd
let him pump me dry. Why, there's nothing he don't know about that
girl,--and all through me. Now he's got in with her,--just as he
wanted to all along,--and what does he do but tie a can to me and
give me a swift kick. And there's another thing I might as well
say to you fellers while I'm about it. I've been doing a lot of
thinking lately,--sort of putting things together in my mind,--and
it's my opinion that he is one of the blamedest liars I've ever
come across."
He paused to see the effect of this startling assertion. Hatch
removed the corn-cob pipe from between his lips and laconically
observed:
"Well, I know of one lie he's told."
"You do?"
"Remember him telling us at the supper table one night that a German
submarine fired three torpedoes at the steamer he was coming home
on with a lot of other sick and wounded? Well, a couple of nights
ago he forgot himself and made the statement that he was in a
hospital in England for nearly two months after the armistice was
signed.
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