Westerfelt loved you.
And if I had had the management of this thing there wouldn't have been
such a long misunderstanding. Mr. Westerfelt, Hettie Fergusson is out
in the kitchen, just crazy to know if you will withdraw the charges
against Toot so that he can come back home."
"I wouldn't prosecute that man," laughed Westerfelt, "not if he'd
killed my best friend. Tell her that, Mrs. Floyd."
"Well, she'll be crazy to hear it, and I'll go tell her." She went
into the hall and quickly returned. "Will Washburn is in front and
wants to speak to you," she said. But Washburn came to the door
himself, an anxious look on his face.
"The hack's still waitin' fer you, Mr. Westerfelt," he said. "What
must I do about it?"
"Tell Ridly to go on without me," laughed Westerfelt. "And--Wash!" he
added. "Take all the money out of the cash drawer and go get blind
drunk. Shoot off all the guns you can find, and set the stable on
fire. Wash, shake hands! I'm the luckiest fellow on God's green
earth."
Washburn was not dense, and he reddened as it occurred to him that his
reply ought to voice some sort of congratulations.
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