Suddenly near him in the road came the crunching sound of footsteps, and a voice said:
"Is that you, Bill?"
"Yes."
"Bill, I wanted to say a word to you."
"Well?"
"We've only got a few days more in the old place. I don't want to go out with any hard feelings for anybody, do you?"
"Let's call it off! Shake hands."
Stover listened breathless, hearing little more, understanding only that a feud had ceased, that two enemies on the verge of the long parting had held each other's hands, slapped each other's backs with crude, embarrassed emotion, for the sake of the memories that lived in the shadow of a name. And something like a lump rose again in Dink's throat. He no longer thought of his loneliness. He felt in him the longing to live as they had lived through the glorious years, to know the touch of a friend's arm about his shoulders, and to leave a name to stand with the names that were going out.
He raised his fists grotesquely, unconsciously, and swore an oath: