"I have been to see my wife—"
he began to sing gamely, and stuck there, because something came up in his throat and squeezed his voice to a whisper. By main strength he pulled Barney away from the gold-tipped ripples, and came stumbling over the loose rocks.
She watched him warily, half-turned, ready to run away. "We—I—aren't you going to be nice and say good-by to me?"
He came on, staring at her and saying nothing.
"Well, if you still want to sulk—I wouldn't be as nasty as that, and—and hold a grudge the way you do—and I was going to be nice and forgiving; but if you don't care, and don't want—"
By this time he was close—quite close. "Yuh know I care! And yuh know I want—you. Oh, girlie, girlie!"
The colors had all left the sky, save blue and silver-gray, and the sun was a commonplace, dazzling ball of yellow. Charming Billy Boyle, his hat set back upon his head at a most eloquent angle, led Barney from the creek up to the stable. His eyes were alight and his brow was unwrinkled. His lips had quite lost their bitter lines, and once more had the humorous, care-free quirk at the corners.
He slammed the stable-door behind him and went off down the street, singing exultantly:
"—I have been to see my-wife,