“It was honest of him to do that,” said Jason. “We all know why these lecherous young men want the Kingsbury jig. It would be a good thing if your friend Solent used his stick for these young dogs, instead of boasting how many miles he can walk.”

“Well, I’m going to walk now, anyway,” broke in Wolf, making a violent effort to keep his temper. “Good night, Valley! Good night Darnley!⁠ ⁠…”

He found it impossible to think of anything, either good or bad, except imaginary retorts to Jason, as he made his way westward through that hushed night. The mere fact that Jason had the power to annoy him so much increased his aggravation; and his inability to lay his finger on the exact nature of this power added the last sharp prod to his irritated spirit.

“I wonder if I am the conceited fool he thinks me? Well! I don’t care if I am. I have my ‘mythology,’ anyway. He’s got the terrible instincts of a child in these things,” his thoughts ran on. “He’s so appallingly direct.”