"Yes, Mrs. Claybourne, I had. He was colonel of one of your northern regiments in the Civil War. His sword hangs over my desk. I shall be pleased to show it you some day at tea."
"Mother! How could you?" again from Helen, and she laid her hand, just for a second, ever so lightly, on my arm.
The effect of my statement I observed to be favourable. The "good-night" Mrs. Claybourne gave me was less chilly than the earlier "good evenings." Helen went with me to the door.
"Do you ride?" she asked, with a change of subject that surprised me.
"Yes—or, rather, I did before coming to Deep Harbor."
"Then get a horse and be here at nine next Sunday morning. Good-night, Ted."
"Good-night, Helen. Thank you for tonight."
I left in such entranced good humour with the world that I forgot to change my clothes before reporting at the factory; and so it happened that the superintendent of the first night-shift performed his duties in what my tailor had informed me were "faultless" evening clothes. The result was to make Knowlton's grin wider than usual when I appeared to relieve him.
"Ted, you've got more nerve than I gave you credit for, if you face our gang in a clawhammer. However, lots of folks have original ideas when they try suicide. If you are lynched before morning don't forget I warned you."
"You need not worry," I said with dignity. "I'm fairly good friends with most of our men."