"Sorry? for him?"
"Yes. And for you. And for m— and because things have come around like this."
"Let's not be sorry just now," said Steering. "Won't you, please, talk about glad things now. It's so pleasant to have you here." Since she was unhappy, he took charge of her unhappiness, and would not be serious any longer about anything. When she brought him his corn-dodger on a shingle and more coffee in a tin dipper, he was foolish with happiness, kept his own spirits high and overcame every little disposition to seriousness on her part until their picnic had to come to an end, and she must be starting back down the river road.
"Do you feel like doing something for me?" she asked, her hand in his, as she made ready to go.
"Something? Everything."
"Then wait just as long as you can, will you?"
"Yes, I will, gladly, since you ask it, just as long as I can." Steering's voice sang as he answered.
She would not let him accompany her on her homeward journey, but went on down the river road alone, and Steering returned to the shack, and carefully measured the amount left in his meal sack, and carefully counted the money in his wallet. There was just about enough in the sack to last ten days, flanked by the potatoes and the bacon, and there was so little in the wallet that any kind of emotion about it seemed a waste. Still, he did not appear to appreciate the extremity of the situation as yet. His face was all lit up and the sound of his own voice pleased him.
"I will wait, just as long as I can," he repeated at the end of his calculations, "and I can till the meal gives out."