"Good," I tapped him on the back. "Write a fellow a word whenever you can. Pretty lonely here after you're gone."
"Lonely!" he repeated. "And you—oh, by George, and I'd almost forgotten—and you to be married in a few days—lonely!"
"That's—off," I faltered—"for the present."
"Off!" he exclaimed aghast. "Did she break it off?"
"Put it off," I corrected.
"When you told her of keeping the kids?"
I nodded my head slowly, watching the odd play of his features.
He opened his arms quickly as though he were about to hug me like some grizzly old bear—then as quickly he dropped them, shamefaced.
"By God!" he uttered solemnly. "This—this gets me—the way things came about. You—you are a man, Randolph, my lad. Courage—that wins everything in the end. Even when it loses, it wins. Yes, sir."
I have not the remotest idea what he meant by those words.