"Certainly I won't say a thing if you don't want me to, Billy—but there is nothing whatever that you could say."
"No," said Billy, "only what I heard."
The carriage drove up at that moment, which was well.
CHAPTER XXIII
BACK TO THE ROAD
Bartlett took the telegram the clerk handed him in an elation it was hard to conceal from Batchelor, who leaned against the counter of the store and telegraph office combined, and watched him moodily.
"Realizes that it was a piece of foolishness, his taking that trip," thought Bartlett with the sympathy of the victor for the beaten. "Has probably forgotten Billy for the time. Poor Billy!"
He tore open the telegram quickly and read it eagerly and then slowly and still again more slowly, while his florid face grew first red and then white.
"Come back, for God's sake. B. here all the time. Where have you been?" signed by his broker's name.
After the third reading, Bartlett raised his eyes and glanced dully at the Watermelon, leaning against the counter, among the gay rolls of calico and boxes of rubber overshoes and stockings, watching him with thoughtful wary eyes, and Bartlett wondered if he were going mad.