CHAPTER VI
The Fight by the River Side
Deep in the forest on the home path, Dic looked at the ring, and quite forgot Billy Little, while he anticipated the pleasure he would take in giving the golden token to Rita. He did not intend to be selfish, but selfishness was a part of his condition. A great love is, and should be, narrowing.
That evening Dic walked down the river path to Bays's and, as usual, sat on the porch with the family. Twenty-four hours earlier sitting on the porch with the family would have seemed a delightful privilege, and the moments would have been pleasure-winged. But now Mrs. Bays's profound and frequently religious philosophizing was dull compared to what might be said on the log down by the river bank.
Tom, of course, talked a good deal. Among other things he remarked to Dic:—
"I 'lowed you'd never come back here again after the way Rita treated you last night." Of course he did not know how exceedingly well Rita had treated Dic last night.
"Oh, that was nothing," returned Dic. "Rita was right. I hope she will always—always—" The sentence was hard to finish.
"You hope she'll always treat you that-a-way?" asked Tom, derisively. "I bet if you had her alone she wouldn't be so hard to manage—would you, Rita?" Tom thought himself a rare wit, and a mistake of that sort makes one very disagreeable. Rita's face burned scarlet at Tom's witticism, and Mrs. Bays promptly demanded of her daughter:—
"What on earth are you talking about?" Poor Rita had not been talking at all, and therefore made no answer. The demand was then made of Tom, but in a much softer tone of voice:—