“I saw a picture like this once for the sign of the cross,” Vic said as he drew the covering over the little form. “Bug has been a cross to me sometimes, but he's oftener my salvation.”
Professor Burgess wondered again, why a boy like Burleigh should have been given a voice of such rare charm.
“I will not keep you long,” Vic said, turning from Bug. “I cannot play in tomorrow's game, and be a man.”
Then, briefly, he explained the reason.
“It is raining still. Take my umbrella,” he said at the close of his simply told story. “But tomorrow's sunshine will dry the field for the game, all right. Good night.”
“Good night,” Vincent Burgess said hoarsely, and plunged into the darkness and the rain.
Ten steps from the Saxon House, he came plump into Bond Saxon, who staggered a little to avoid him.
“My luck on rainy nights,” Vincent thought. “The old fellow's sprees seem to run with the storms. He hasn't been 'off' for a long time.”
But Bond Saxon was never more sober in his life, and he clutched the young man's arm eagerly.
“Professor Burgess, won't you help me!” he cried.