Sandy stayed at the door with Annette, but Ruth came to the window and asked for her mail. When she smiled at the contrite Jimmy she scattered the few remaining ideas that lingered in his brain. With crimson face and averted eyes, he handed her the letter, forgetting that telegrams existed.
He saw her send a quick, puzzled glance from the letter to Sandy; he saw her turn away from the door and tear open the envelop; then, to his everlasting credit, he saw no more.
When he ventured forth from behind his desk the office was empty. He made a cautious survey of the premises; then, opening a back window, he seized a small bottle by the neck and hurled it savagely against the brick wall opposite.
CHAPTER XX
THE IRONY OF CHANCE
The snow, which had begun as an insignificant flurry in the morning, developed into a storm by afternoon.
Four miles from town, in a dreary stretch of country, a dejected-looking object tramped along the railroad-track. His hat was pulled over his eyes and his hands were thrust in his pockets. Now and again he stopped, listened, and looked at his watch.
It was Sandy Kilday, and he was waiting for the freight-train with the fixed intention of committing suicide.
The complications arising from Jimmy Reed's indiscretion had resulted disastrously. When Sandy found that Ruth had