"Why, what's the matter?"
"Nothing," he answered, his voice gone dull now. "I guess I've been working harder than I thought and am pretty tired."
"You'd better go to bed early and get a good sleep."
"Yes," he said, "I'm going to do that."
But he did not do that. Instead, for the last time, he stayed up until nearly morning in the company of his completed work. It was as if he watched the night out with a loved one who in the morning must go upon a long uncertain journey. . . . This also Shirley, had she known, would have called very temperamental.
For a month they waited, a feverish, anxious but always hopeful month, for the committee's decision.
And then one morning as he sat idly in his office an errand boy came, under his arm a long round parcel.
"Mr. Bixby sent me with this."
When the boy was gone David quickly ripped open the parcel. It contained his sketches and plans. With them was a note.
"As we have accepted the plans submitted by Mr. Richard Holden, we return yours herewith. Thanking you for. . . ."