CHAPTER IV
ARMITAGE decided to accept his losses silently. The swift anger, the naturally savage longing to hunt down the man who had so simply and absurdly robbed him, receded, leaving only a residue of philosophical calm, generously leavened with a sardonic humor. Perhaps, too, he was actuated by a keen idea of shame. Hue and cry would only acquaint the town with the colossal folly of one James Armitage. Moreover, Bordman had six months' leeway; and, because he was so insignificant in appearance, he would be as difficult to locate as the proverbial needle. There were a few hundred thousand individuals in the United States; the other millions were of the Bordman type. Besides, Armitage had been laughed at once before; he could not tolerate the thought of being laughed at again. The
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