“I guess that’s the only way, Nan. That’s what Cecil’s always saying. And I guess he’s about right about everything.”
Eaton passed them, unconscious of their nearness. He walked with head erect, as one who has fought and won a good fight. A sense of all his victory had cost him was in both their hearts. There was an infinite pathos in his figure as he strode through the dusk, returning to the woman he loved and to the man he had saved and given back to her.
“It’s tough on Cecil,” said Jerry chokingly. “It doesn’t seem quite square, some way—I mean the Copelands hitting it off again.”
“Well, we may be sure he doesn’t feel that way,” Nan answered. “It’s all come out the way he wanted it to. He brought them together.”
THE TOUCH OF HER WET CHEEK THRILLED HIM
“It’s funny, Nan; but I’m never dead sure I catch Cecil’s drift—the scheme or whatever it is he works by. I can’t find it in the books he gives me to read.”
“It isn’t in books, Jerry; it’s in his heart—just helping; just being kind!”
THE END
The Riverside Press