“Bollup, do you remember the time, about a year ago now, you were so helplessly drunk at the Maryland Hotel?”
“I don’t like to remember it,” replied Bollup, reddening. “I thought no one even knew anything about that. But what has that got to do with what we are talking about?”
“Do you remember that that same night Os was reported for Frenching though no one ever knew why he had Frenched?”
“Yes, but I had nothing to do with that.”
“Nothing that you remember of. Os heard of your condition; there was no time to lose; he ran through the gate and knew he was reported. He ran into me on Maryland Avenue and together we found you. You were too far gone to know either of us. Well, we got you into a boat, rowed around and got you into quarters and into bed without any one seeing you. Os saved you from a justly merited dismissal and made you a present of four stripes at the same time. He saved you a second time, at least saved your stripes last night. And what do you give him in return? Forsooth a black eye; and you cut his acquaintance! And you are indignant that he doesn’t bow lower to those stripes which are tarnished and dim on your sleeves, but which, were they where they belonged, and you know where that is, would have been honored as yours never have been!”
A dawning consciousness now swept through Bollup’s mind and a flood of recollection enveloped it. He thought of Osborn, the victim of persecution and one who had suffered so much; of Osborn, the self-sacrificing Os, to whom he owed everything; the loving friend who had given his all, and who even now, spurned and contemptuously treated, uttered no complaint. A well of emotion surged through his heart, and now came a bright, vivid appreciation of the brotherly love which Ralph had accorded him; Bollup was not prepared for this, and uncontrolled tears gushed from his eyes. He clutched Himski’s arm and spoke brokenly.
“I—I didn’t know of this, Himski, I—I never imagined it. Oh, what shall I do? What can I do, Himski? I am the most contemptible cad any one ever knew,” and bitter self-hatred was replacing conceit in Bollup’s mind. “Is there anything I can do, is there any hope for me? Oh, what a friend I have had; did ever a man have such a friend? Have I lost him forever, Himski?”
“Suppose you go and ask him, Bollup; there he is now, standing by his desk in the corridor. I’m going to my room.”
When Ralph saw Bollup approaching him in the corridor he was feeling particularly sad and woebegone. He had had many troubles and sorrows but the loss of Bollup’s friendship cut him deepest.
When he found himself suddenly clasped by Bollup and heard that dear friend in broken, halting sentences beg for forgiveness and utterly debase himself he could have cried for joy; not to have seen Bollup in such dejected, shameful grief, but because he knew that the miserable misunderstanding of the last few weeks between himself and Bollup was forever dispelled.