CECILIA STOPPED AND GASPED. IT WAS HARDER
THAN SHE HAD DREAMED
"Stuyv!" said John aghast, "what am I going to do without you? Why, Stuyv! You can't go, at least for long. You don't mean a long trip?"
"'Fraid so," he was answered. "I guess I'd better, John. I—the fact is I've wanted something I can't have. I don't want to baby about it, only I'm,—well, I can't forget it here. I'm going to try a change. Damn it! What did I say that for? I hate to whine."
"Stuyv!" said John. He reached across the table, and squeezed the hand that was drawing designs on the tablecloth with a strawberry fork.
Stuyvesant felt the sympathy, and looked up. The boy on the other side of the table gasped.
"Is it as bad as that?" he asked. Stuyvesant shook his head, and then he uttered his own word and convincingly. "Gosh, John," he said, "it's the limit. I'd never have believed it possible."
"Would it help to tell?" asked John. Stuyvesant smiled a little. "Not exactly," he replied. "I did tell one person," he continued after a pause, "and after that it was worse. This person meant well too. Rot it, if I couldn't run a world better than it's run! I'd have people that love each——" he stopped, and looked wildly around. Then he mopped his forehead. "It's awful hot," he finished inanely.
"Yes," agreed John. "Lord, I'll miss you!" John was utterly despondent. "There's no one like you, Stuyv," he said in an embarrassed way. "You know how hard it is to say some things, but you can bet I know what you've done for me! I do—so does Cecilia. I had the wrong idea."