Part 51 (2/2)

With a shrug he turned and walked toward Helene Spenceley. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, and there was a singular smile on her face as he went up to her, but whether she smiled or frowned did not seem to matter much to Wallie.

He was not a pretty sight at the moment, and he knew it. A lump had risen on his jaw and one eye was closing, his hair was powdered with gypsum dust, and the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt was torn out at the shoulder, but he had no apologies to make for anything and there was that in his manner which said so.

Helene laughed as she put out her hand to him.

”Was that a part of the regular programme or an impromptu feature of the day's entertainment?”

”It's been brewing,” Wallie replied, briefly.

”Aren't you surprised to see me?”

”Not particularly.”

”Or glad?”

”I'm always that.”

”This came yesterday while I was in Prouty, and I volunteered to deliver it. I thought it might be important.” She handed him a telegram.

”That was good of you.” His face softened a little, and still more as he read the message.

He pa.s.sed it to Helene:

Will you come home if I tell you I was wrong and want you?

AUNT MARY.

Wallie mused softly:

”It must have been hard for her to write that.”

”Will you go?” Helene asked, quickly.

Wallie did not answer. He stood motionless, staring at the road where the heat waves s.h.i.+mmered, his absent gaze following a miniature cyclone that picked up and whirled a little cloud of powdered gypsum, while Helene waited.

Her eyes were upon his face with an expression that would have arrested his attention if he had seen it, but he seemed to have forgotten her and her question.

When he spoke, finally, it was to himself, rather, as if in denunciation of the momentary temptation which the telegram had been to him.

”No!” emphatically, ”I'm not going back like a prodigal who can't stand the gaff any longer! I won't slink into a soft berth because it's offered, and admit that I'm not man enough to stand up and take what comes to me! I'm licked again--proper--and,” harshly, ”I don't expect anybody to believe in me, but I won't _stay_ licked if I can help it!”

”I'm said to be a good 'picker,' and I've always believed in you, Wallace Macpherson,” Helene said, slowly.

He stared his incredulity, then replied with ungracious irony:

”You've concealed it well.”

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