He looked to see if Elinor was waiting for him. Finding that she had gone, he called to Lefty to come back.
When the boy once more confronted him, he asked where he had seen him before.
Looking around first to make certain that they were alone, Phelps brought forth the clipping that had been the cause of the recent outburst and handed it to the sergeant.
“Well, I’ll be a ——” Panama exclaimed. “So you’re the guy what ran—Say, what are you doing in the Marine Corps?”
Lefty moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other, hoping that the sergeant wouldn’t betray his secret.
“I couldn’t stand the ridicule! You were the only one that was decent to me and—well, here I am, to make them all take that back some day. That’s my ambition.”
Panama listened attentively with a sympathetic smile, a trifle flattered by the praise of the college man.
He looked at the clipping again for a moment and then proceeded to tear the caption in half handing back the part to Lefty that read: “Lefty Phelps reminds us of Lindbergh,” crumpling the rest in his hand.
“That’s what they’ll be saying soon, kid,” he assured the boy.
Lefty, grateful beyond words, seemed to Panama like a great big, inarticulate dog, but managed to say: “Gee! That’s decent of you. I don’t know how to——”