Out of the corner of his eye he saw the night-service officer regarding him quizzically. Then, startlingly, came Dot's next words:
"I don't mean 'leave' that way."
Anthony's hand clutched the receiver fiercely. He felt his nerves turning cold as if the heat was leaving his body.
"What?"
Then quickly in a wild broken voice he heard:
"Good-by—oh, good-by!"
Cul-lup! She had hung up the receiver. With a sound that was half a gasp, half a cry, Anthony hurried from the headquarters building. Outside, under the stars that dripped like silver tassels through the trees of the little grove, he stood motionless, hesitating. Had she meant to kill herself?—oh, the little fool! He was filled with bitter hate toward her. In this dénouement he found it impossible to realize that he had ever begun such an entanglement, such a mess, a sordid mélange of worry and pain.
He found himself walking slowly away, repeating over and over that it was futile to worry. He had best go back to his tent and sleep. He needed sleep. God! Would he ever sleep again? His mind was in a vast clamor and confusion; as he reached the road he turned around in a panic and began running, not toward his company but away from it. Men were returning now—he could find a taxicab. After a minute two yellow eyes appeared around a bend. Desperately he ran toward them.
"Jitney! Jitney!" ... It was an empty Ford.... "I want to go to town."
"Cost you a dollar."