“I was looking, all right,” he said. “I've been having a run of hard luck.”
It had been Dick's custom to eat with his finds, and thus remove from the meal the quality of detached charity. Men who would not take money would join him in a meal. But he could not face the lights with this keen-eyed youngster. He offered him money instead.
“Just a lift,” he said, awkwardly, when the boy hesitated. “I've been there myself, lately.”
But when at last he had prevailed and turned away he was conscious that the doughboy was staring after him, puzzled and unconvinced.
He had a bad night after that. The encounter had brought back his hard-working, care-free days in the army. It had brought back, too, the things he had put behind him, his profession and his joy in it, the struggles and the aspirations that constitute a man's life. With them there came, too, a more real Elizabeth, and a wave of tenderness for her, and of regret. He turned on his sagging bed, and deliberately put her away from him. Even if this other ghost were laid, he had no right to her.
Then, one day, he met Mrs. Sayre, and saw that she knew him.
XXXVII
Wallie stared at his mother. His mind was at once protesting the fact and accepting it, with its consequences to himself. There was a perceptible pause before he spoke. He stood, if anything, somewhat straighter, but that was all.
“Are you sure it was Livingstone?”