“I think I’ll keep it,” she pushed his hand aside. “You deserve something for today’s work. You were great, boy; simply great!”
Morris said his goodbys quickly and was off to catch a town train.
“And, now, Mr. Professor,” Gorgas turned to Blynn, “I’m going to write to you when you arrive at Holden, and if you don’t answer within five days—I’ll—”
“What will you do, child?”
She looked at him steadily. Smiles and little frowns came and went, like gust ripples on a pond.
“Don’t ever put a girl through that sort of thing again. You don’t know what it is to be eaten up with shame—every day, too, for months and months. Well! We’ve dropped that; haven’t we? But I’m still a little hot about it.... Good night, Allen Blynn ... and good luck to you ... and remember; don’t back-pedal.”
“Good night, I’m on my mettle,” he tried her old rhyming game, as he walked away.
“And answer letters,” she retorted, and added, “or with Gorgas Levering you’ll have to settle.”
XV
THE LADY OF THE INTERRUPTION
SHE wrote to him at regular intervals, and he answered dutifully. To him they were the little letters of a lost child; not entirely lost, for much of the child was in her scrawling notes. With many persons the written word is much more intelligent than the oral; but with Gorgas Levering, who in a chat would easily give the impression of the grown woman, letter-writing exhibited a youngster still in the teens.