“When a man’s sixty or thereabouts any woman that plays the game right can land him. If she’s young and pretty and naturally smart, he’s fruit--simply fruit! A vain man is the easiest mark; tickle him a little and he’ll goo-goo. We’re all chumps where the women are concerned, Wingfield; they nail us every time. The Colonel was bound to walk into the trap. Lord, man, even I’ve had ’em after me! A few yards of crêpe coming in to ask my advice about managing their property; sympathy gag; helpless woman; no one to appeal to; comes to Tom Walsh because of his success in business, his reputation for being square and so on. Now that I’m down here alone and the impression’s abroad that I’m a solid citizen, they’re looking me up rather more freely. While I was with Craighill the Colonel got all the crêpe. Now I’m getting my proper share of the business. They jolly me about my horses and say they think it’s so fine for a man to have some form of recreation. I tell ’em I always drive alone! But the Colonel shied at the widows, grass-fed and otherwise, and married a woman nobody ever heard of before. He probably thought he was doing a smart thing to cut out the local crowd. I guess Mrs. Blair wouldn’t have let him marry anybody in town. He did well, according to his light. The reel’s wound up and the fish is in the basket.” “I fancy we’re neither of us deeply concerned about the Colonel; it’s Wayne we’d like to help; am I right?” Walsh nodded gravely. “I don’t think the woman is a bad woman. I went up to Mrs. Blair’s that night at the rash expense of a white waistcoat just to look her over. She’s pretty and friendly. I don’t suppose she’s buncoed the Colonel any more than he’s buncoed her. It’s about even. She struck me as being kind of pathetic, some way.” “Ah! I hadn’t noticed it,” remarked Wingfield. “She struck me as a young person who would take care of herself. They’re an interesting type, these young women who corral old gentlemen of established position and wealth. The Colonel must have a fine estate; he’s made money ever since he inherited the Wayne fortune and he’s never lost any.” “Um!” This grunt of Walsh’s was discouraging. Wingfield’s own reticence had been admired, but Walsh’s was even more opaque; he felt that the old fellow was a hooded falcon who could, if given free flight, penetrate far into the mystery that surrounded Mrs. Craighill. “I guess we might call there to-night,” Walsh continued. “I’m not on to the social game, but I suppose that, having had the Colonel’s announcement cards and having met the bride at Mrs. Blair’s, it’s up to me to call. As I have no official knowledge of the Colonel’s absence I guess I’ll drop in to-night and it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to come along. You can dine with me at the Club. Do you put on a white vest for evening calls or will a black one do?”