"Where's the little 'un?" he said.
It was his recognized pet name for Dot, but for some reason Adela had
never approved of it. She frowned now at its utterance.
"Do you mean Dot? Oh, mooning about somewhere, I suppose. And leaving
other people to do the work."
Jack promptly relieved her of her burden and set himself to help her with
her task.
Adela was not ill-tempered as a rule. She smiled at him. "Good man, Jack!
No one can say you're an idler, anyway. I've got rather a nice supper for
you. I shouldn't wonder if Fletcher Hill turns up to share it. I hear he
is on circuit at Trelevan."
"I heard it, too," said Jack. "He's practically sure to come."
"He's very persistent," said Adela. "Do you think he will ever win out?"
Jack nodded slowly. "I've never known him fail yet in anything he set his
mind to--at least, only once. And that was a fluke."
"What sort of a fluke?" questioned Adela, who was frankly curious.
"When Buckskin Bill slipped through his fingers." Jack spoke
thoughtfully. "That's the only time I ever knew him fail, and I'm not
sure that it wasn't intentional then."
"Intentional!" Adela opened her eyes.
Jack smiled a little. "I don't say it was so. I only say it was
possible. But never mind that! It's an old story, and the man got away,
anyhow--disappeared, dropped out. Possibly he's dead. I hope he is. He
did mischief enough in a short time.
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