But when the boy had gone he read over what he had written, then tore it into very small pieces and dropped them in the waste paper basket. Then he took a fresh sheet and began again.
He was half way down the first page when the door opened and Rex came in.
“Syd,” he exclaimed, “aren’t you coming home to dinner? We waited till seven o’clock, then mother grew so worried that I came down to see if anything had happened.”
“How good you are to me, Reggie,” said the other. “And how little I deserve it.”
His head went down on his two arms upon the desk. His frame shook as if with sobbing.
“Syd, you dear old fellow, don’t talk that way. What is troubling you?” Rex had put his arm about his brother’s neck; his forehead pressed close against the bowed head.
“Don’t, Reggie. If you only knew you would not want to touch me.”
Sydney lifted his head suddenly, but his arms were still crossed over the half written letter.
“Syd, what do you mean?”
Rex looked at his brother in deep perplexity, his handsome brow wrinkled with the anxiety Sydney’s appearance and demeanor were causing him.