He smiled as a man who has
solved some knotty problem to his entire satisfaction. Moreover, he
bore no mark of conflict, none of the conventional scars of a
rough-and-tumble fight. His clothing was in perfect order, his tie and
collar properly arranged, as a gentleman's tie and collar should be.
For a moment Hazel found herself believing the _Herald_ story a pure
canard. But as he walked across the room her searching gaze discovered
that the knuckles of both his hands were bruised and bloody, the skin
broken. She picked up the paper.
"Is this true?" she asked tremulously, pointing to the offending
headlines.
Bill frowned.
"Substantially correct," he answered coolly.
"Bill, how could you?" she cried. "It's simply disgraceful. Brawling
in public like any saloon loafer, and getting in jail and all. Haven't
you any consideration for me--any pride?"
His eyes narrowed with an angry glint.
"Yes," he said deliberately. "I have. Pride in my word as a man. A
sort of pride that won't allow any bunch of lily-fingered crooks to
make me a party to any dirty deal. I don't propose to get the worst of
it in that way. I won't allow myself to be tarred with their stick.
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