“I think so,” he said stiffly. Mr. Bernstein nodded. “He’s Caraffi’s manager. Caraffi’s up at the Hot Springs, taking baths to reduce his flesh, or to make his hair grow, and Corwin’s killing time down here. Now I ain’t meaning any offense. I’m speaking as a friend, you understand? This man, Corwin, he ain’t a gentleman. He’s a sport an’ a gambler an’ a loafer. He ain’t any nearer being a gentleman than that there lamp-post’s near being a brindled cow. He gets full, too, and when he does he talks, see?” Leigh, beginning to suspect the drift of the talk, was becoming furious. “I take no interest in Mr. Corwin,” he said sharply. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, Mr. Bernstein----” “Hold on!” said Mr. Bernstein impatiently. “I’ve got to tell one of your family--for the sake of the lady. If you want to protect your sister-in-law from scandal, Mr. Leigh Carter, you’d better listen. I ain’t believing the talk myself, but it ain’t my business. If it was, I’d lam the feller good an’ plenty!” Leigh stared at him. He did not want to listen, but he was boy enough to want to hear. He breathed rather short. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Bernstein,” he cried excitedly. “I won’t hear talk of my sister-in-law!” “Say!” Bernstein tapped his shoulder with a fat forefinger. “Ain’t it better for you Carters to hear it than the whole town? I ask you that? Ain’t it up to you Carters to shut his mouth?” Leigh faltered, then he set his young teeth hard and flung his head back. “What does he dare to say about Mrs. William Carter?” he demanded fiercely. “I ain’t telling you all he says,” Mr. Bernstein replied meaningly. “I ain’t soiling my mouth with it--he’s a bad one! But he’s saying now--to-day--that she started to run away with him yesterday, and then got scared an’ come back at one o’clock in the mornin’--” “That’s a lie!” cried Leigh. “A black lie! Where is he?” “Shucks!” said Mr. Bernstein. “You’re a boy. Don’t you go lookin’ for him. You tell your father, Leigh Carter. He had oughter know it, he--say!” Leigh had torn himself away and dashed off at a pace that left Mr. Bernstein gasping. “Well, I’m darned!” he exclaimed. Then he relaxed, and stood looking after Leigh with something like satisfaction. “I guess he’ll tell ’em. They wouldn’t listen to me, and that Corwin--something oughter be done to him. He ain’t no gentleman!” Mr. Bernstein walked slowly and thoughtfully back to the “Belle from Borneo” poster. He felt that he had done his duty. He bore no ill-will to little Fanchon la Fare, and he hated Corwin.