“Shoot him aboard,” replied a uniformed man, and walked on without a pause. Claude moved toward the train. Bonaventure seized him by both arms and gazed on him.
“Claude St. Pierre! Claude, my boy, pride of Grande Pointe, second only with Sidonie, farewell!”
Tears leaped into the eyes of both. Bonaventure snatched Claude to his arms and kissed him. It was less than nothing to him that every eye on and off the train was on them. He relaxed his grasp. “Sidonie! tell him farewell!—ah! nay! shake not hands only! Kiss her, Claude! Kiss him, my own Sidonie, kiss him farewell!”
It was done. Claude blushed red, and Sidonie stepped back, wiping her eyes. Maximian moved into the void, and smiling gave his hand to the young adventurer.
“Adjieu, Claude.” He waved a hand awkwardly. “Teck care you’seff,” and dropped the hand audibly against his thigh.
Claude’s eye sought his father. St. Pierre pressed forward, laid his right hand upon his son’s shoulder, and gazed into his face. His voice was low and husky. He smiled.
“Claude,”—tears rose in his eyes, but he swallowed them down,—“Claude,—my baby,”—and the flood came. The engine-bell rang. The conductor gave the warning word, the youth leaped upon his father’s neck. St. Pierre thrust him off, caught his two cheeks between fluttering palms and kissed him violently; the train moved, the young man leaped aboard, the blue uniforms disappeared, save one on the rear platform, the bell ceased, the gliding mass shrunk and dwindled away, the rails clicked more and more softly, the tearful group drew closer together as they gazed after the now-unheard train. It melted to a point and disappeared, the stillness of forest and prairie fell again upon the place, the soaring sun shone down, and Claude St. Pierre was gone to seek his fortune.