If it should be--if it should be--"
"Well, IF it should be?"
"Then we can try, that's all. Maybe you run a course a little different
from me, Stevie; you navigate 'cordin' to your ideas, and I do by mine.
But in some ways we ain't so fur apart. Son," with a grim nod, "you rest
easy on one thing--the Corcoran Dunn fleet is goin' to show its colors."
CHAPTER XIX
Caroline sat by the library window, her chin in her hand, drearily
watching the sleet as it beat against the panes, and the tops of the
Park trees lashing in the wind. Below, in the street, the trolleys
passed in their never-ending procession, the limousines and cabs whizzed
forlornly by, and the few pedestrians pushed dripping umbrellas against
the gale. A wet, depressing afternoon, as hopeless as her thoughts, and
growing darker and more miserable hourly.
Stephen, standing by the fire, kicked the logs together and sent a
shower of sparks flying.
"Oh, say something, Caro, do!" he snapped testily. "Don't sit there
glowering; you give me the horrors."
She roused from her reverie, turned, and tried to smile.
"What shall I say?" she asked.
"I don't know. But say something, for heaven's sake! Talk about the
weather, if you can't think of anything more original.
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