“Out to Schooley’s—or wherever it is—you will, won’t you, dad?”
She had her arms around her father, now, and there was a pathos, an entreaty in her voice that wrung his heart.
“I was goin’ out this mornin’, anyway,” he said, smoothing her hair gently, “an’ I guess I might as well start now.”
“And I’m going with you, dad.”
“No, no,” he protested. “What good would that do, Mamie?”
“Good!” she cried. “Why, dad, you don’t know where to find him!”
“And do you?”
Her face changed—seemed to whiten and harden—and her eyes stared past them into the gloom.
“Yes!” she whispered, her hands clasped tight against her heart.
Mrs. Welsh, her hand grasping Jack’s arm, nodded to him to consent.