"Well, if it isn't, you'll soon give it up," said Mr. Flynn disagreeably. "An easy berth is what you're looking for, and it's my opinion that you'll look some time before you find it."
The next two weeks fairly flew. Nelson was getting his necessary outfit, and every afternoon, on the way home, he stopped to exhibit to Ruth his latest purchases. And now the time had come when it was hard for Ruth to smile and show the proper interest. Sometimes when she remembered that the decision had been left to her, and that she had brought this on herself, her heart almost failed her. It would have been so much easier to have gone on in the old way. The thought of the thousands of miles that would soon stretch between Nelson and herself gave her a weak feeling in the knees. They had a great deal to say in those days about letters but each realized, only two well, that the best letter ever penned is a poor substitute for the exchange of speech and of smiles.
The day of Nelson's departure Ruth went through the customary routine with a curious sense of unreality. She had suggested Nelson's coming to dinner, but he had declined, and she would never know what that refusal cost him.
"I'd love to, Ruth. You don't know how I'd love to. But I think I should take my last meal with mother."
"Yes, Nelson, I think so, too."
"She says she won't go down to the station to see me off," Nelson went on. "She's been keen about my going from the start, but now that it's come to the point, it's harder than she thought."
Ruth reflected that she could sympathize with Mrs. Hallowell perfectly.
"The train goes at ten," Nelson continued with a sprightly air that would not have deceived the most gullible, "so I'll have plenty of time to bore you stiff before you see the last of me."
Ruth forced the smile his jest demanded. "You know we're all going to the station with you," she said. "Even Bob Carey's coming."