And then came that last telegram, reporting defeat, and with it crushed in his hand the judge made his last report:
“All over. You've got 'em, Jim. Hooray! Can't you hear 'em yell?” The Pope's white mouth smiled and his eyelids flickered, but his eyes stayed closed.
“Jim, I wouldn't give all that money to old Bill's brats—just some fer Sally Ann.”
“All of it for old Bill's—for Sally Ann's children, the mountain folks, an' the old home town.” The Pope opened his eyes and he spoke:
“All of you—nurses an' docs—git out o' here, please.” And knowing that the end was nigh they quietly withdrew.
“Judge, you ain't no actor—you're a ham!”
“Whut you mean, Jim?” asked the judge, for in truth he did not understand—not just then. The roar of the city rose from below, but the sunset came through the window as through all windows of the world. The Pope's hand reached for the judge's hand. His lips moved and the judge bent low. “Beat!” whispered the Pope; “beat, by God! Beat—for—councilman—in—my—own home town.” And because he knew his fellow man, the good and the bad, the Pope passed with a smile.
The Goddess of Happy Valley
I
The professor stood at the window of his study waiting for Her to come home. The wind outside was high and whipped her skirts close to her magnificent body as, breasting it unconcernedly, she came with a long, slow stride around a corner down the street. Now, as always whenever he saw her move, he thought of the line in Virgil, for even in her walk she showed the goddess. And Juno was her name.