David's heart was touched. He laid his hand on Cronk's shoulder and was about to speak kindly to him. The other drew back, shaking off the compassionate hand.
"None o' that, now. I don't need any pity from you. Keep your trap closed about me." He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and allowed his gaze to travel toward the ferry entrance. The despondent note returned to his voice. "Shall we take this boat or wait for the next?" he asked. It was as if he had said: "We are companions in misery, you and I. Let's make the best of it."
David looked at him for a moment oddly. The humor of the situation struck him all at once; but the smile of derision died on his lips. After all, perhaps he was in the discard with Ernie Cronk.
"I'm going to catch this boat," he said decisively. He started off, followed by his unchosen comrade, and caught the boat almost as it cast off in the slip.
Mrs. Braddock and Christine were far forward. They were chatting gayly with the blonde Mr. Stanfield, who appeared to be giving them the latest news of the town. Old Mr. Portman sat against the deck house.
David watched the little group at the rail from a safe distance. He allowed his fancy full play; his hopes rebounded; his confidence revived. By the time the ferry-boat was locked in the Manhattan slip he was buoyant with the hope and resolution of unconquered youth. He would win her away from them all.
All the way across the river he had been aware of Colonel Grand's close proximity to the little party of three. He stood, with Roberta, across the forward deck, leaning against the rail, his arms folded. At no time did he withdraw his gaze from the figure of Mary Braddock. Her back was toward him,—resolutely, it seemed to David,—and she must have been conscious of the carnal eyes bent upon her. Somehow David had the feeling that she was battling against the impulse to turn in response to the hypnotic command.
He hung back, biding his time, until the party had disappeared inside the ferry building. Then he hastened toward one of the exits, intent on securing a cab. He had made up his mind not to accost them; he would not present himself unexpectedly at a time and place when embarrassment to them might be the result.
From somewhere at the edge of the crowd a thin, sardonic voice called out to him:
"So long, David. You know how it feels yourself now, don't you?" He knew who the speaker was without looking.