Clement refused to touch the checks, and the clerk said: "Here is yours, Biddy."
Biddy went up and took the slip in her hands. "Is that little slip o' white paper really worth so much?"
"Call at the bank and get your money when you want it," said the imperturbable cashier.
Dan studied his check, his face foolish with joy.
Eldred took his, saying, "This puts into my hands the means to fight."
Clement merely nodded. "You know my address." Eldred went out without further word.
When the door closed on him Clement's face lost its sternness, and he became sad and tender.
His struggle was not yet done. His mind was clear about the man who came in at the eleventh hour, but it was not clear with regard to these true-hearted old friends who had been with him from the first. He recalled the time when Dan's big arm had helped him to a chair, and Biddy had put the steaming soup before him—food worth all the gold in the world at that moment. He recalled her broad, kindly face, hot and shining from the stove; he remembered their struggles, their sacrifices.
"Wait a moment, Biddy," he said, as they called out "Good-night," and started to leave.
"Sit down a moment, and you, too, Dan. I want to talk over old times a while."