Finally he turned and came slowly back to his desk. He stood erect beside it and John saw a look of determination come over the features he had considered so mild and pleasing.
"By God"—he used the name of the Creator softly, reverently, as if he were invoking aid from the Almighty—"Brennan, I'll do it."
* * * * *
Sunday morning John and his mother prepared for Consuello's visit to their modest little bungalow home. There was little that he could do to help, as Mrs. Gallant had arranged everything and spent most of the time in the kitchen preparing the dinner which he saw was to be one of the repasts his father had so often termed a "feast fit for a king."
"My boy is truly a man now," she said to him. "Do you realize that this is the first time you have ever invited a girl to your home?"
He laughed as he took her in his arms to pet her.
"Mother, dearest," he said, "I know what you have been thinking, but you are wrong. Consuello is a wonderful girl and sometimes I cannot understand why she has been so kind to me. She is only a friend, dearest, and you mustn't think that your boy is in love with her or that she is in love with him."
Mrs. Gallant smiled up to him.
"You think a lot of her," she said.
"I do," he admitted. "She has been so very kind. She believes I am helping someone she seems really to care for."