She shut the door forcibly.
Dannie waited until Casey closed at eleven, and to his astonishment
Jimmy was not among the men who came out. That meant that he had
drank lightly after all, slipped from the back door, and gone
home. And yet, would he do it, after what he had said about being
afraid? If he had not drank heavily, he would not go into the night
alone, when he had been afraid in the daytime. Dannie climbed from
the buggy once more, and patiently searched the alley and the
street leading to the footpath across farms. No Jimmy. Then Dannie
drove home, stabled his horse, and tried Jimmy's back door. It was
unlocked. If Jimmy were there, he probably would be lying across
the bed in his clothing, and Dannie knew that Mary was in town. He
made a light, and cautiously entered the sleeping room, intending
to undress and cover Jimmy, but Jimmy was not there.
Dannie's mouth fell open. He put out the light, and stood on the
back steps. The frost had settled in a silver sheen over the roofs
of the barns and the sheds, and a scum of ice had frozen over a tub
of drippings at the well. Dannie was bitterly cold. He went home,
and hunted out his winter overcoat, lighted his lantern, picked up
a heavy cudgel in the corner, and started to town on foot over the
path that lay across the fields. He followed it to Casey's back
door. He went to Mrs. Dolan's again, but everything was black and
silent there. There had been evening trains. He thought of Jimmy's
frequent threat to go away.
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