"For a walk," replied Don.
"Why the coat and umbrella? And—oh, I see!" Tim's glance took in the bag and comprehension dawned. "So that's it, eh?"
There was an instant of silence during which Tim closed the door and leaned against it, hands in pockets and a thoughtful scowl on his face. Finally:
"Yes, that's it," said Don defiantly. "I'm off for home."
"What's the big idea?"
"You know well enough, Tim. I—I'm not going to stay here and be—be pointed out as a quitter. I'm——"
"Wait a sec! What are you doing now but quitting, you several sorts of a blind mule? Think you're helping things any by—by running away? Don't be a chump, Donald."
"That's all well enough for you. It isn't your funeral. I don't care what they say about me if I don't have to hear it. I'm sorry, Tim, but—but I've just got to do it. I—there's a note for you in your bed. I didn't expect you'd be back before I left."
"I'll bet you didn't, son!" said Tim grimly. "Now let me tell you something, Don. You're acting like a baby, that's what you're doing! It's all fine enough to say that you don't care what fellows say as long as you don't hear it, but you don't mean it, Don. You would care. And so would I. If you don't want them to think you a quitter, for the love of mud don't run away like—like one!"
"I've thought of all that, Tim, but it's the only thing to do."