'I got you placed now,' said Steve, regarding him with interest.
'You're not going to turn into an ambassador or an artist or any of
them things. You're going to be the greatest district attorney that
ever came down the pike.'
It was past seven o'clock when Kirk, bending over the wheel, with
Mamie at his side came in sight of the shack. The journey had been
checked just outside the city by a blow-out in one of the back tyres.
Kirk had spent the time, while the shirt-sleeved rescuer from the
garage toiled over the injured wheel, walking up and down with a cigar.
Neither he nor Mamie had shown much tendency towards conversation.
Mamie was habitually of a silent disposition, and Kirk's mind was too
full of his thoughts to admit of speech.
Ever since he had read Steve's telegram he had been in the grip of a
wild exhilaration. He had not stopped to ask himself what this mad
freak of Steve's could possibly lead to in the end, he was satisfied to
feel that its immediate result would be that for a brief while, at any
rate, he would have his son to himself, away from all the chilling
surroundings which had curbed him and frozen his natural feelings in
the past.
He tried to keep his mind from dwelling upon Ruth. He had thought too
much of her of late for his comfort. Since they had parted that day of
the thunder-storm the thought that he had lost her had stabbed him
incessantly. He had tried to tell himself that it was the best thing
they could do, to separate, since it was so plain that their love had
died; but he could not cheat himself into believing it.
It might be true in her case, it must be, or why had she let him go
that afternoon?, but, for himself, the separation had taught him that
he loved her as much as ever, more than ever. Absence had purified him
of that dull anger which had been his so short a while before. He
looked back and marvelled that he could ever have imagined for a moment
that he had ceased to love her.
Now, as he drove along the empty country roads, he forced his mind to
dwell, as far as he could, only upon his son. There was a mist before
his eyes as he thought of him. What a bully lad he had been! What fun
they had had in the old days! But that brought his mind back to Ruth,
and he turned his mind resolutely to the future again.
He chuckled silently as he thought of Steve. Of all the mad things to
do! What had made him think of it? How had such a wild scheme ever
entered his head? This, he supposed, was what Steve called punching
instead of sparring. But he had never given him credit for the
imagination that could conceive a punch of this magnitude.
And how had he carried it out? He could hardly have broken into the
house. Yet that seemed the only way in which it could have been done.
From Steve his thoughts returned to William Bannister. He smiled again.
What a time they would have, while it lasted! The worst of it was, it
could not last long. To-morrow, he supposed, he would have to take the
child back to his home. He could not be a party to this kidnapping raid
for any length of time. This must be looked on as a brief holiday, not
as a permanent relief.
