understand. "Mr. Dryfoos," he said, "Lindau is past all that forever,"
and he felt the ghastly comedy of it when Dryfoos continued, without
heeding him.

"I got a particular reason why I want him to believe it wasn't his ideas
I objected to--them ideas of his about the government carryin' everything
on and givin' work. I don't understand 'em exactly, but I found a
writin'--among--my son's-things" (he seemed to force the words through
his teeth), "and I reckon he--thought--that way. Kind of a diary--where
he--put down--his thoughts. My son and me--we differed about a good-many
things." His chin shook, and from time to time he stopped. "I wasn't very
good to him, I reckon; I crossed him where I guess I got no business to
cross him; but I thought everything of--Coonrod. He was the best boy,
from a baby, that ever was; just so patient and mild, and done whatever
he was told. I ought to 'a' let him been a preacher! Oh, my son! my son!"
The sobs could not be kept back any longer; they shook the old man with a
violence that made March afraid for him; but he controlled himself at
last with a series of hoarse sounds like barks. "Well, it's all past and
gone! But as I understand you from what you saw, when Coonrod
was--killed, he was tryin' to save that old man from trouble?"

Yes, yes! It seemed so to me."

"That 'll do, then! I want you to have him come back and write for the
book when he gets well. I want you to find out and let me know if there's
anything I can do for him. I'll feel as if I done it--for my--son. I'll
take him into my own house, and do for him there, if you say so, when he
gets so he can be moved. I'll wait on him myself. It's what Coonrod 'd
do, if he was here. I don't feel any hardness to him because it was him
that got Coonrod killed, as you might say, in one sense of the term; but