"Damn my past all you like, Harris. No man's more ashamed of it than I, but don't damn my future!" And now Willett was on his feet, his eyes snapping, his face aflame. "I was never so earnest in my life. [Small comfort that! thought Harris.] I never knew before what it was to be utterly in earnest. Stop it! Why, man, where have I—or you—ever known a girl like her? Stop it! Oh, here, Hefty, I can't talk as I feel. You must see how different this is—how much this means to me! The man doesn't deserve to live that—that could be untrue to a girl like that?"
"That's—sound enough," said poor Hefty. "But how long will you hold to it?"
"So long as I live, Harris," was the solemn, the surprising answer. "God knows I mean it," and Willett held forth his hand.
And Willett believed he meant it—firmly, solemnly believed he meant it, and his handsome face was never handsomer, never more eloquent of love, repentance, determination to do a man's manful part in furtherance of his devotion than at this moment when, in the dimly lighted, scantily furnished, low-ceilinged little room, these two men of different mould, these classmates of the nation's soldier school, stood and looked into each other's eyes, and slowly Harris began to stretch forth his left hand, then, stopping suddenly, slipped the right forearm from its broad white sling, steadied the elbow with his left, and slowly turned the thin, feeble fingers to meet the warm clasp of that before him.
"It's one of 'Tonio's tricks," said he. "Mano recto, mano cierto. Stick to that, Willett, and, by God, I'll stand by you in spite of everything I've ever thought or heard. Steady!"
Somebody was at the door. Harris saw and checked the effusive thanks on Willett's lips.
"What's that about 'Tonio?" said a ringing voice, as a "blouse" and buttons followed the blue sleeve into the field of vision, and the adjutant came slowly in. "Queer! D'you know I was thinking of him that very minute. Signal fire out south-east! Some Indians want to talk and afraid to come in. Turner's gone out with a squad to sample 'em. Willett, how soon are you coming over? The general's got the despatches ready."
"Right away, if you like! What's it now?"
"Ten twenty," said Strong, with a squint at his watch. "There's no hurry. He's writing personals now, and Bentley's just up from the store. There's news in of some kind from McDowell way, and Muñoz and Sanchez have jumped the game and quit. You'll probably have 'Patchie guides after all, Willett. Going down to the store after awhile?"
"For a moment, perhaps, after I've said good-night at the general's," answered Willett, anxious now to end the business and be away. But in came Bentley.