"There hasn't been time for much else."
"Time! Good God, boy, you've been out of th' army most a year! What've you done with that year? Tame women? Yes. Hump! From where I sit you seem to be a pretty capable Turk, or maybe it's my money they want—like you want it. Do you list that with your references? Your luck with these flossy young petticoats?" The boy flushed so deeply that it was evident even in the dim light. "An' this little wisp of goldenrod, she seems to have run th' others out. I s'pose you think I owe her something."
"I owe Marcia something. That much is true."
"Our women used to put up with hardships, shoulder to shoulder."
"Our women don't do that, they are a different breed."
Inside, a telephone bell whirred.
"Yes, a different breed. You said it there; different. Like you bucks are different." Luke nodded sagely; his mouth was shut, letting his loose cheeks sag over the corners. "You want it in a hurry; all that matters is the reward. The race don't mean anything."
A sudden resentment rang in that tone. John stirred uneasily. He did not speak, nor did the old man's lips relax. The telephone called again, then steps on the rug, and Philip Rowe crossed the room hurriedly. They heard his voice.
"Yes, this is Mr. Taylor's residence—No—This is Mr. Taylor's secretary speaking."
"Secretary!" snorted Luke.
"Give me the message please,—all ready—"
And from Luke: "Bookkeeper! Bookkeeper! They've all got their notions."
