“You mean I am pardoned?”
Then, remembering that the rose of his bringing carried a sharp thorn the senior proceeded with a note of concern sobering his voice.
“The red tape has not only been tangled because of you—but it has tangled you in its meshes, too, Spurrier. Yes, you are pardoned. You are as free as I am—but ‘in view of the gravely convincing evidence, et cetera, et cetera’—it seems that some sort of compromise was deemed necessary.”
Spurrier stood where he had risen from his seat and his eyes held those of his informant with a blending of inquiry and suspense.
“What sort of compromise, major?”
“You leave the army with a dishonorable discharge. 24 The world is open to you and you’ve got an equipment for success—but you might as well recognize from the start that you’re riding with a heavy impost in your saddle clothes, my boy.” He paused a moment and then, dropping his race-track metaphor, went hurriedly on: “For myself, I think you’re guilty or innocent and you ought to be hanged or clean-shriven. I don’t get this dubious middle ground of freedom with a tarnished name. It’s going to crop up to crab things for you just when they hang in the balance, and I’m damned if I can see its fairness! It will cause men to look askance and to say ‘he was saved from rope-stretching only by wire-pulling.’”
The major ended somewhat savagely and Spurrier made no answer. He was gazing out at the patch of blue that blazed hotly through the high, barred window and, seeing there reminders of the bars sinister that would henceforth stand between himself and the sky.
The battalion chief interrupted the long pause to suggest:
“The Empress sails on Tuesday. If I were you I’d take passage on her. I suppose you will, won’t you?”
“That depends,” answered the liberated man hesitantly. “I’ve got to thank the senator—and, though she hasn’t sent me any message, there’s a question to ask a girl.”