Jack nodded.
“Why, how’s that? What’s the trouble?” questioned the professor kindly. “Nothing wrong at home, I hope?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what is it?”
Jack was silent, looking scowlingly out of the window at the flying landscape of freshly green hills and meadows with an occasional glimpse of the sparkling river. He would accept the other’s help as far as Hampden, he decided; from there he would work his way home somehow; perhaps he could steal a ride now and then on the trains.
“You don’t want to tell me, I see,” said Professor White. “And I dare say that’s natural, Weatherby. You and I have had a couple of unpleasant conversations, and I suppose the experience doesn’t recommend me as a confident. But you’re in some sort of trouble and I think you’d better make a clean breast of it and let me help you if I can.
“And while we’re speaking of former encounters, Weatherby, I want to tell you that I made a mistake that day down at the coal wharf. I’ve got lots of faults, and one of the worst of them is an inclination to judge hastily. I accused you of cowardice that day, and I’ve regretted it very often since. I can understand how it might be possible for you to have hesitated about going into the river and yet not be guilty of cowardice in the strict sense. You see, I’ve given some thought to the matter, after it was a bit too late. I’ve been watching you since that day, and I think I made a mistake; I’m certain I did. And I want you to forgive me for the injustice I did you and for the hurt I inflicted. Will you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” answered Jack drearily. “You only said what all the others thought. I guess it did hurt, but I don’t mind now; you see, there’s been a lot worse since then.”
“Ah!” said the other comprehendingly. “I understand. Don’t you think you might tell me something about it, Weatherby?”