"The toast?" Van Bult asked.
"Failure to Dallas," said Littell, and I could not refuse to join them.
To change the tenor of our thoughts, I asked Littell if he had definitely decided about his trip.
"Yes," he replied, "I shall go to Florida, to-morrow, but will be back in time to receive any revelations you may have to make."
"Better take him with you," said Davis. "He is hardly good company, but it will keep him out of harm."
"Why not go?" Van Bult urged. "It will do you good—you need rest even more than Littell."
"No," I said, "I will stay here."
By this time we had reached the front door and no one seemed disposed to linger. Though our little dinner had begun auspiciously and full of promise of a pleasant evening, its ending had been rather melancholy and I knew they all felt so and, try as they would, could not throw the weight off. Somehow or other, this death of White seemed fated to bring us all constant trouble.
Davis and Van Bult nodded me a farewell as they went away, but Littell held out his hand and, as I took it, said earnestly, almost affectionately:
"Your fidelity to your purpose may prove to your sorrow, Dick, but I respect you for it, and I wish some of us could be more like you."