Broken to the Plow: A NovelDobie, Charles Caldwell
General
Broken to the Plow: A Novel
Dobie, Charles Caldwell
Fiction
"Including the secret entrances that those on the outside wouldn't
know... A crook wouldn't stay all his life on the night-watchman's
job, believe me."
He noticed that Helen was regarding him keenly and her glance
registered indulgent surprise rather than disapproval. Hilmer, too,
had grown a bit more tolerant. He felt a measure of pride in the
realization that he could make his points so calmly and
dispassionately, putting this rough-hewn man before him on the
defensive. But Hilmer's wavering was only momentary; he was not a man
to waste time in argument when he discovered that such a weapon was
futile.
"Then I understand you don't want the business?"
"Not on those terms."
Hilmer shrugged.
Helen leaned forward and put out a hand. "Let's see!" she half
commanded.
Hilmer gave her the blue print and the package of memoranda. She began
to unfold one of the insurance forms, bending over it curiously. Fred
was puzzled. He knew that Helen was too unacquainted with insurance
matters to have any knowledge of the printed schedule she was
studying, yet he had to concede that she was giving a splendid
imitation of an experienced hand. Her acting annoyed him. He turned
toward Hilmer with an indifferent comment on the weather and the talk
veered to inconsequential subjects. Helen continued her scrutiny of
the forms.
Finally Hilmer rose to go. Helen made no move to return the memoranda.
Fred cleared his throat and even coughed significantly, but Helen was
oblivious. Presently Starratt went up to his wife and said,
deliberately:
"Hilmer is going ... you better give him back his papers."
She turned a glance of startled innocence upon them both. "Oh!" she
exclaimed, petulantly. "How disappointing...and just as I was becoming
interested... Why don't you men go have your usual drink? I'll be
through with them then."
Hilmer gave a silent assent and Fred followed him. There didn't seem
to be anything else to do. On the way out they met Hilmer's office boy
in the corridor. Hilmer was wanted on a matter of importance at the
office. He waved a brief farewell to Fred and left.
Fred went back to his wife. She had abandoned the forms and was
lolling in her chair, sucking at an orange.
"Hilmer's been called suddenly to his office on business," he said,
brusquely. She turned and faced him. "You'd better put those papers in
the safe. I'll take them back myself to-morrow. I can't see what
possessed you to insist on looking them over, anyway."
She squeezed the orange in her hand. "Well, when we get ready to
handle the business I want to know something about it."
He stared. "Handle the business? You heard what I said, didn't you?"
"Yes, I heard," she said, wearily, and she went on with her orange.
He did not say anything further, but the next morning a telephone
message put to rout his resolve to return Hilmer's insurance forms in
person.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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