"Why, how do I look?" asked Andy, amazed at this greeting.
"As if you'd just picked up a thousand pound; and so you have, and better than that."
All unknown to himself, Andy's face had answered to his feelings—to the sense of escape from bondage, of liberty restored, of possibilities once more within his reach. The renewed lightness of his heart had made his face happy and triumphant. But it fell with a vengeance now.
"Well?" asked Jack, to whom the change of expression was bewildering.
"I'm sorry—I've never been so sorry in my life—but I—I can't do it, Jack."
Jack sat smoking silently for a while. "That was what you were lookin' so happy about, was it?" he asked at last, with a wry smile. "I've never afore seen a man so happy over chuckin' away five hundred a year. Where does the fun come in, Andy?"
"O lord, Jack, I can't—I can't tell you about it. I—"
"But if it does do you all that good, I suppose you've got to do it."
Andy came up to him, holding out his hand. Jack took it and gave it a squeeze.
"I reckon I know more about it than you think. I've been goin' over things since last night—and goin' back to old things too—about the old gentleman and Nancy."