So it finally sank in.
I said, "Golly! You're right—as usual! But wasn't it a lucky break that Lancelot Biggs happened to know something about your history, Hank? Your name must be pretty well known to the men of the future—"
Hank writhed in embarrassment.
"Well, now, I wouldn't 'zackly say that, Jim. Lanse knew about me, yes. But then, he'd be likely to. Him an' me bein' related, so to speak—"
"Related!"
"Yeah. Spoke to him 'bout it later. Y'see, Lanse is a sort of grandson o' mine, with a lot o' great-greats on the front of it—" He gulped and looked at Helen miserably. "I—I'm afeared they ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it, Helen. Lanse says you was his great-great-grandmammy!"
And then Helen MacDowell—smiled! And it was the kind of smile I hope to see some time on the lips of a woman looking at me. And she said, very softly,
"There's no sense in fighting fate, is there, Hank? What must be, must be. And there is something we can do—to make the future happier...."
Aw, hell! I promised Helen she could have him alone in a dark room, didn't I? So I said good-by.
I don't think either of them heard me. In fact, I'm sure of it!