It eases me, though, to tell the
truth for lil' Nella-Rose. I know how the tongues are wagging and I have
to sit still fo'--since Marg and Jed took up with each other--my future
lies 'long o' them. I'm an old man and mighty dependent; time was
when--" Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the fireplace.
"Gawd a'mighty!" he flung out desperately, "how I want--whisky!"
Truedale saw the wildness in the old man's eyes--saw the trembling and
twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared what might be the result
of trouble and enforced sobriety. He pulled a large flask from his
pocket and offered it.
"Here!" he said, "take a swallow of this and pull yourself together."
Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop before
Truedale could control him.
"God bless yo'!" whined Greyson, sinking back into his chair, "bless
and--and keep yo'!"
Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from the
sight before him. He waited an hour, watching the effect of the
stimulant. Greyson grew mellow after a time--at peace with the world; he
smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar. Finally, Truedale
approached him again. He bent over him and shook him sharply.
"Did you tell me--the truth--about--Nella-Rose?" he whispered to the
sagging, blear-eyed creature.
"Yes, sir!" moaned Peter, "I sho' did!"
And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson was-drunk--he lied!
Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between the time
he left Greyson's until he knocked on the door of White's cabin; but it
was broad daylight and bitingly cold when Jim flung the door open and
looked at the stranger with no idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen
him before.
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