10
Humphrey felt that the little triumph—though it might indeed prove temporary; any victory over old Boice in Sunbury affairs was likely to be that—called for celebrating in some special degree. He had, it seemed, a few bottles of beer at the rooms.
So thither they adjourned; Mildred and Humphrey strolling slowly ahead, Corinne and Henry strolling still more slowly behind.
Henry seemed fagged. At least he was quiet.
Corinne, stirred with a sympathetic interest not common to her sort of nature, stole hesitant glances at him, even, finally, slipped her hand through his arm.
She hung back. Mildred and Humphrey disappeared in the shadows of the maples a block ahead.
'I suppose you're pretty tired, aren't you?' Corinne murmured.
Her voice seemed to waken him out of a dream.
'I—I—what was that? Oh—tired? Why, I don't know. Sorta.'
Her hand slipped down his forearm, within easy reach of his hand; but he was unaware.
'I'm frightfully excited,' he said, brightening. 'If you knew what this meant to me! Feeling like this. The Power—but you wouldn't know what that meant. Only it lifts me up. I know I'm all right now. It's been an awful two years. You've no idea. Drudgery. Plugging along. But I'm up again now. I can do it any time I want. I'm free of this dam' town. They can't hold me back now.'
'You'll do big things,' she said, a mournful note in her voice.
'I know. I feel that.'
And now she stopped short. In a shadow.
'What is it?' he asked casually. 'What's the matter?'
She glanced at his face; then down.
'Do you think you'll write—a poem?' she asked almost sullenly.
'Maybe. I don't know. It's queer—you get all stirred up inside, and then something comes. You can't tell what it's going to be. It's as if it came from outside yourself. You know. Spooky.'
She moved on now, bringing him with her.
'Mildred and Humphrey'll wonder where we are,' she said crossly.
Henry glanced down at her; then at the shadowy arch of maples ahead. He wondered what was the matter with her. Girls were, of course, notoriously difficult. Never knew their own minds. He was exultantly happy. It had been a great day. Twelve a week now, and going up! Hump was a good old soul.... He recalled, with a recurrence of both the thrill and the conservatism that had come then, that he had had a great time with Corinne in the early afternoon. Mustn't go too far with that sort of thing, of course. But she was sure a peach. And she didn't seem the sort that would be for ever trying to pin you down. He took her hand now. It was great to feel her there, close beside him.'
Corinne walked more rapidly. He didn't know that she was biting her lip. Nor did he perceive what she saw clearly, bitterly; that she had unwittingly served a purpose in his life, which he would never understand. And she saw, too, that the little job was, for the present, at least, over and done with.
She stole another sidelong glance at him. He was twisting up the ends of his moustache. And humming.