“A journey? I’ll go too!”
“No, Ezra, this is a journey I must take all alone.”
“Well, you know best, cap’n,” the old fellow assented. “But ef you need any help, call on!”
“I will, Ezra. Now go to your room and rest. You’re badly used up. There’s nothing you can do to help, just now.”
“But won’t you be wantin’ me to pack y’r duffel? An’ rig Bucephalus?”
“When I want you, I’ll let you know,” smiled Briggs. With one hand still on the old man’s shoulder, his other hand took Ezra’s in a strong clasp.
“Ezra,” said he, “you’ve always stood by, through thick and thin, and I know you will now. You’ve been the most loyal soul in this whole world. No needle ever pointed north half as constant as you’ve pointed toward your duty by Hal and me. You’re a man, Ezra, a man—and I’m not ashamed to say I love you for it!”
His grip tightened on the old man’s hand. For a moment he looked square into Ezra’s wondering, half-frightened eyes. Then he loosened his grasp, turned and walked from the room.
Along the hall he went, and down the stairs. His face, calm, beatified, seemed shining with an inner light that ennobled its patriarchal features.
“Thank God,” he whispered, “for light to see my duty, and for strength to do it!”