She came out from her little school and controlled her emotions with difficulty when she saw his piteous condition.
“Let's walk where I can feel the comfort of green grass under my feet,” he pleaded; “that may seem real! Nothing else does!”
By her matter-of-fact acceptance of him and his appearance and his mood she calmed him as they walked along.
“And even Rowley,” he added, after his blunt confession of failure, “he has just turned me down. He won't follow his five thousand with another cent. The old rascal deserves to be cheated if we fail. He is telling me that he always believed we would never make good in the job. Is he crazy, or am I?”
“Make all allowances for Deacon Rowley,” she pleaded. “Keep away from him. He is not a consoling man. But there must be some way for you, Boyd. Let us think! You have been keeping too close to the thing—to your work—and there are other places besides Limeport.”
“There's New York—and there's a way,” he growled.
“You must try every chance; it means so much to you!”
“Is that your advice?”
“Certainly, Boyd!”
He stopped and pulled the sealed packet from his coat. In the stress of his despair and resentment he was brutal rather than considerate.