And so on.
Felix wrote at the top of the page, Wheaton Whittlings. A rotten heading—but it would have to do. He yawned, and then stared unseeingly at the next page.
He was not thinking about those news-items. He was thinking about Chicago....
A year ago, he had determined to leave Port Royal forever—and go to Chicago.
But here he was, still!
2
He had hoped, a year ago, to find, in the excitement of a new life in Chicago, healing for the desperate hurts of love. If only he had gone then!...
But he hadn’t had the money to buy a railway ticket.
He had taken this job on the Record, and settled down to life in Port Royal again as a reporter.
His twenty-first year had gone by.