"Thank God."
He put up the receiver, but still remained standing.
"Gentlemen," he said to the manager and the Upper Quarry guest, his voice was thick with emotion and the tears of thankfulness were coursing down his cheeks, "perhaps no greater gift could be bestowed on my sixty-fifth birthday than Champney Googe's return to his home—his mother—his friends—we are all his friends. Perhaps the years are beginning to tell on me, but I feel that I must excuse myself to you and go home—I want to tell my wife. I will explain all to you, as strangers among us, some other time; for the present I must beg your indulgence—joy never kills, but I am experiencing the fact that it can weaken."
"That's all right, Colonel," said the manager; "we understand it perfectly and it's late now."
"I'll go, too, Colonel," said Octavius; "I'm going to take Uncle Jo home in the trap."
Luigi Poggi helped the Colonel into his great coat. When he left the room with his prospective father-in-law, his handsome face had not regained the color it lost upon the first mention of Champney's name.
Emlie and Wiggins remained a few minutes to explain as best they could the situation to the stranger guests, and the cause of the excitement.
"I remember now hearing about this affair; I read it in the newspapers—it must have been seven or eight years ago."
"Six years and four months." Mr. Wiggins corrected him.
"I guess it'll be just as well not to spread the matter much among the men—they might kick; besides he isn't, of course, a union man."