Jeffard stops short at the tree-bole, with his hand on Lansdale's shoulder.
I believe you'd moralize if you were going to be hanged, Lansdale.
He nodded to Lansdale in passing, and Jeffard said, "Do you know him?"
"I don't think he would have gone with you," Lansdale ventured.
Lansdale remembered some of the generosities, and his heart went soft at the recollection of them.
Mr. Lansdale, do you happen to know anything about the habits of the ostrich?
But Jeffard was obstinate, and sat munching raisins while Lansdale sipped his wine.
Lansdale acknowledged defeat, extending his hands in mock desperation.
"Really, I—I can't say," stammered Lansdale, to whom the loss of the telegram was the dragging of the last anchor of equanimity.
Lansdale said good-night a little later, and they both went to the door with him.