Go get your own breakfast."
Armitage dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee cup and surveyed the
room.
A large map of Virginia and a series of hunting prints hung on the
untinted walls, and there were racks for guns, and a work-bench at one
end of the room, where guns might be taken apart and cleaned. A few
novels, several three-year-old magazines and a variety of pipes remained
on the shelf above the fireplace. The house offered possibilities of
meager comfort, and that was about all. Armitage remembered what the
agent through whom he had made the purchase had said--that the place had
proved too isolated for even a hunting preserve, and that its only value
was in the timber. He was satisfied with his bargain, and would not set
up a lumber mill yet a while. He lighted a cigar and settled himself in
an easy chair before the fire, glad of the luxury of peace and quiet
after his circuitous journey and the tumult of doubt and question that
had shaken him.
He slit the wrapper of the Washington newspaper that Oscar had brought
from the mountain post-office and scanned the head-lines.
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