“I will, father.”
“Wait a moment.” Doctor Marley was fumbling in his pocket. He drew forth a few dollars.
“Here, Glenn,” he said. “I wish it could be more.”
There was nothing more to do, or say. They went down stairs; Marley’s bag was waiting for him in the hall. He kissed his mother again and then again; he shook his father’s hand, and then he went.
“Write often,” his father called out to him, as he went down the walk. It was all the old man could say.
The door closed, as the door of the Blairs’ had closed. Inside Doctor Marley looked at his wife a moment.
“Well,” he said, “he’s gone.”
Mrs. Marley made no answer.
“I suppose,” he said, “I ought to have gone to the train with him.”
Then he toiled up the stairs to his study and the sermon he was to preach when Glenn was gone.