“You wrote in one of your letters that you had taken a flying trip to Riverside,” Joe reminded her, and Mabel nodded.
“I didn’t want to stay long. Mother Matson was so sick and I was afraid she would think she must exert herself to entertain me. So I just stayed overnight and caught the morning train back to Goldsboro.”
“Did Mother give you any message for me?” Joe’s voice was husky.
“Just her love—and this,” said Mabel, softly. She held out her hand, and in the palm of it lay a tiny, heart-shaped locket. Joe recognized it as one that had long rested in his mother’s jewelry case. He took it and opened it, and the sweet face of his mother in her youth smiled back at him.
Joe got up abruptly and went to the window, standing for a long time looking out, with his back to his wife. Mabel knew that he was having a struggle with himself, and waited quietly until he turned and came back to her.
“If I could get away from the team long enough to go to her!” he said huskily. “But I can’t just now. It’s impossible. I’ve got to keep after the men every minute, or they’re apt to go to pieces.”
“She doesn’t expect you just now, dear,” said Mabel, soothingly. “She knows you can’t leave the team. Now don’t worry.”
Joe sank down in the chair again, his head in his hands. Finally he looked up and asked:
“How about Clara? Are things as bad there as we thought they were?”
“I’m afraid so, Joe. It seems to me that Clara is getting more and more entangled with that millionaire all the time. He reads poetry to her, too, in spite of the fact that he’s a great, strapping, athletic looking chap.”