"It's mighty fine of you and I--I
sha'n't forget it. But you're not fit for an all night job like
this. I feel sort of responsible for you, my boy. Your mother would
never forgive me if anything happened to you, and this is a time
when we've got to think about the mothers. Good night,--God bless
you, Courtney."
"Good night, Amos."
The men trooped heavily out of the kitchen door.
Presently he heard the chugging of automobile engines and then the
roar as they sped off down the road. He returned to the parlour.
The whiskey had given him fresh confidence.
The elderly woman was talking to a couple of men in the hall. From
the scraps of conversation he was able to pick up, he gathered that
they were reporters from the city. She invited him into the room.
"We would prefer a very recent picture," one of the men was saying.
"Something taken within the last few weeks, if possible. A snap-shot
will do, Madam."
The speaker was a middle-aged man with horn-rimmed spectacles.
His companion was much the younger of the two. The latter bowed
to Thane, who had taken a position before the fireplace and was
regarding the strangers with interest.
"I'll have to speak to Mrs. Vick," murmured the woman. "I don't
know as she would want Rosabel's picture printed in the papers."
"It would be of incalculable assistance, Madam, in case she has
run away from home.
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