Part 71 (1/2)

”Oh, I--I rather expected it.”

He left Tough, wondering how he had had the strength to answer.

”Look out, you're treading on my toes,” said the Gutter Pup next him.

He mumbled something and his teeth closed over his tongue in the effort to bring the sharp sense of pain. He went to his box; the letter was there. He went to his room and laid it on the table, going to the window and staring out. Then he sat down heavily, rested his head in his hands and read:

DEAR JACK: I'm writing to you among the first, for I want you particularly to know how happy I am. Mr. Ver Plank----

He put the letter down; indeed, he could not see to read any further.

There was nothing more to read--nothing mattered. It was all over, the light was gone, everything was topsy-turvy. He could not understand--but it was over--all over. There was nothing left.

Some time later the Tennessee Shad came loping down the hall, tried the door and, finding it locked, called out:

”What the deuce--open up!”

d.i.n.k, in terror, rose from the table where he had remained motionless.

He caught up the letter and hastily stuffed it in his desk, saying gruffly:

”In a moment.”

Then he dabbed a sponge over his face, pressed his hands to his temples and, steadying himself, unlocked the door.

”For the love of Mike!” said the indignant Tennessee Shad, and then, catching sight of d.i.n.k, stopped. ”d.i.n.k, what is the matter?”

”It's--it's my mother,” said d.i.n.k desperately.

”She's not dead?”

”No--no----” said d.i.n.k, now free to suffocate, ”not yet.”

XXV

This providential appearance of his mother mercifully allowed d.i.n.k an opportunity to suffer without fear of disgrace in the eyes of the unemotional Tennessee Shad.

That very night, as soon as the Shad had departed in search of Beekstein's guiding mathematical hand, d.i.n.k sat down heroically to frame his letter of congratulations. He would show her that, though she looked upon him as a boy, there was in him the courage that never cries out. She had played with him, but at least she should look back with admiration.

”Dear Miss McCarty,” he wrote--that much he owed to his own dignity, and that should be his only reproach. The rest should be in the tone of levity, the smile that shows no ache.

DEAR MISS MCCARTY: Of course, it was no surprise to me. I saw it coming long ago. Mr. Ver Plank seems to me a most estimable young man. You will be very congenial, I am sure, and very happy. Thank you for letting me know among the first. That was _bully_ of you!

Give my very best congratulations to Mr. Ver Plank and tell him I think he's a very lucky fellow.

Faithfully yours, JACK.

He had resolved to sign formally ”Cordially yours--John H. Stover.”

But toward the end his resolution weakened. He would be faithful, even if she were not. Perhaps, when she read it and thought it over she would feel a little remorse, a little acute sorrow. Imbued with the thought, he stood looking at the letter, which somehow brought a little consolation, a little pride into the night of his misery. It was a good letter--a very good letter. He read it over three times and then, going to the washstand, took up the sponge and pressed out a lachrymal drop that fell directly over the ”Faithfully yours.”