She had loved the world and everything in it, and her blood had danced in her veins, and her feet had longed to dance, despite it being the Sabbath day; her very soul had seemed to sing with a joy as wide as eternity.
Now the sun was shining outside her window, but there was something gone from its golden glamour; her blood that had danced flowed chill in her body, and her heart was full with a pain too great for it to contain.
“A dream,” she whispered dully—“nothing but a dream. It is over!”
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE BELL BOY
On Wednesday Bancroft was to play again in Kingsbridge, and Thursday was to be the “middle of the week lay-off” for both the Bullies and the Kinks.
Tuesday’s early mail brought Henry Cope a letter bearing the Bancroft postmark, and he opened it somewhat nervously. As he apprehended, it contained a communication from Anson Graham, president of the Northern League, giving notice that there would be held at the office of Rufus Kilgore, in Bancroft, on Thursday evening, at eight o’clock, a meeting of the league directors to consider the protest of Manager Riley relative to Paul Hazelton, “playing with Kingsbridge under the assumed name of Tom Locke.”
“By gum!” growled the grocer disgustedly. “They actually do mean business. We’re up ag’inst it. The boy better know ’bout this right away.”
He found Locke making ready to start for Fryeburg, where the team was to play that afternoon. The young man seemed strangely depressed, and his face wore a deep frown as he read the notice, which Cope had handed him. The grocer anxiously regarded the expression on the pitcher’s face.
“Well?” he asked, as Tom returned the notice.