CHAPTER XXX
THE DEPARTURE
And now, in addition to Audry’s intelligence, was her kindness. Even in her firmness and certainty she had been kind. Of course she was right, poor Tom saw that. The only rebellion that still persisted in him was rebellion against a fate which could contrive two diverse obligations. But he knew now that the kindly obligations of friendship are as nothing where stern duty is concerned. It was odd how he kept wishing that Whalen were not concerned in this matter, so that he might ask him what he thought about it. He had such a regard for Whalen’s opinions, for the little things Whalen had said in his quizzical way....
Tom passed a restless night, feeling troubled and contemptible. He knew that he would never himself have resolved upon the course which Audry advised, and the more he realized this the deeper was his regard for her nature and her intelligence. She seemed to him to have a kind of second sight, a clear vision which saw things in their true light.
He was going to do as she said. Moreover, her suggestion about the reward had given him a fine idea, an idea which soothed his conscience somewhat and made him feel less despicable. He was going to think of his whole mean performance as something done for Whalen’s sake. He would have felt a little better about this if he could have honestly believed that there was any chance at all of Whalen being innocent. Well, anyway, he would do his stern duty—Audry was right.
And he would take the reward, too. Every cent of that money would go to help Whalen— Dyker—in his trial. If he refused help coming from such a source, well then, Tom would—no he wouldn’t—yes he would—he would buy the Goodfellow and use it for charity. There were lots of scout troops of poor boys; he would take them on outings; it should be their boat, not his....
He asked Ferris’ permission to be absent for a day, perhaps a couple of days. It made him feel mean, contemptible, to see Ferris so generous, and friendly and openhearted; it seemed a reproach. He went into the kitchen of the cottage to say “So long,” to Miranda, and he envied her that she was so carefree, crooning an outlandish song. He loitered and balked at starting. Audry was there, hustling about with graceful, girlish efficiency, putting away dishes. She seemed not to notice him, but Tom construed this as a sign of the confidence she reposed in him.
He spoke as if they had had no talk the night before. “I’m going down the mountain,” he said; “going to take a day or two off.”
“Are you going to Temple Camp?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll be back to-morrow night, I guess.”