Al nodded his head toward her door.
"So's not to see me!"
Al nodded.
"I came clear from there in the busy season for the sight of her and I didn't come alone. I've three hundred here," said Jim, taking a roll of bills from his pocket. "And to be turned down this way, with my heart full of love——" He was greatly moved and he showed it, for his lip trembled and his voice shook.
Al was sorry for him. "Aw, she'll come around. She's got a stubborn streak, you know that, but she does right in the end. Give her time. I'll talk to her."
Jim felt sure that she must have heard their conversation, especially the last part of it, for he had talked quite distinctly and he remembered from the old days how readily all the sounds in the flat penetrated into that room. He got on his hands and knees and looked at the crack beneath her door to see if her room was lighted.
"She's sitting in the dark," he whispered, "Would it be all right to knock!"
"I don't know," said Al uncertainly.
Jim knocked softly, then a little more loudly, but there was no answer. He put his ear to the door to listen, then tip-toed away.
"She's crying," he whispered to Al, "crying to beat the band. Those heavy deep kind of sobs. I could barely hear her. Must have her face in the pillow. Now what do you know about that!"