“Well, Max, old fellow,” he made himself say. “I’m glad I told you this. I feel better now.”
For an instant the old whimsical smile played on Lee’s lips.
“That’s all right,” he said. “That’s all right, Mauney, my son, I—I guess I’ll have to be going along.”
When Lee had descended the stairs, Mauney buried his face in his hands. It hurt. He knew that life was wringing the last drop of courage from Lee’s heart. From the window he saw him walking slowly up the street—Lee, the frail body, the heroic mind.
“Am I going to win?” he asked himself. “How it will hurt to win! Is victory always to the strong?”
Presently, Freda came up the stairs, and walked quickly along the hall.
“Oh, here you are!” she exclaimed, stopping. “Did you get through with Freeman?”
“I did indeed,” he replied seriously. “I’m through with the history department.”
“What!”