Donald hesitated to spring the news of his reformation upon one who was already in a weakened condition. He assured himself that he would refuse when the time came. In the meanwhile no reason presented itself for refusing to assist his friend in quest of a life-preserver.
“Sheeley used to live in one of those shacks over there. It's letting up a bit, suppose we go over?” proposed Dillingham, shaking the water out of his cap.
“Been out to the house to-day?” asked Donald as they splashed through the mud.
“Just came from there. The truth is Margery and I have fixed things up at last. Any congratulations?”
“To be sure,” said Donald, extending a wet hand, but frowning into the darkness. “Have you told my sister?”
“Mrs. Sequin?” Dillingham smiled with superior amusement. “I guess she didn't have to be told. I imagine she thought of it before we did. Rather keen on me, you know, from the start.”
Donald drew in his breath but said nothing. Had it not been true, how he would have enjoyed punching Dill's head!
“You get off to the Orient this week, I suppose,” went on Dillingham. “Lucky devil! Decker asked me to go along. If it hadn't been for the paternal grandparent I'd have gone in a minute, but he put his foot down. When do you sail?”
“I've given up the trip. I'm going to buy a farm out near the Wickers', and get down to work.”
Dillingham whistled incredulously: