Leaning one hand on the packing-case that served as the coffin of
his dead friend, Dunn swore a silent oath to exact full retribution,
and henceforth to put that purpose on a level with the mission on
which originally he had come.
Aloud, and in a grumbling tone he said:
"What's the matter with my name? It's a name like any other. What's
wrong with it?"
"What should there be?" flashed Deede Dawson in reply.
"I don't know," Dunn answered. "You keep repeating it so, that's all."
"It's a very good name," Deede Dawson said. "An excellent name.
But it's not suitable. Not here." He began to laugh again and then
stopped abruptly.
"Do you know, I think you had better choose another?" he said.
"It's all one to me," declared Dunn. "If Charley Wright don't suit,
how will Robert Dunn do? I knew a man of that name once."
"It's a better name than Charley Wright," said Deede Dawson. "We'll
call you Robert Dunn--Charley Wright. Do you know why I can't have
you call yourself Charley Wight?"
Dunn shook his head.
"Because I don't like it," said Deede Dawson. "Why, that's a name
that would drive me mad," he muttered, half to himself.
Dunn did not speak, but he thought this was a strange thing for the
other to say and showed that even he, cold and remorseless and
without any natural feeling, as he had seemed to be, yet had about
him still some touch of humanity.
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