He heard the departing Buddy whistling outside. His footsteps approached the door. Jeremy slipped a hand over the picture.
“Anythin’ more you want me for, Boss?” asked the boy, appearing in the doorway.
“No, Buddy. Good-night.”
“‘Night.” He paused. “I dunno’s She would have wanted me to tell you about the paper,” he said. “She never told me not to, though. I kinda thought you’d wanta know. I guess we got a man-size job makin’ a paper good enough for Her to read, ain’t we, Boss!”
“I guess we have,” said Jeremy steadily.
The door shut and he returned to his contemplation of the picture. “You read me, my dear,” he said. “You were reading me all the time. You read me in the Eli Wade story. And in the golf story. And perhaps in others I did n’t realize. You knew I’d come eventually to do just such a wretched crawl as I did on the German school bill. You knew that you never could trust yourself to me. You’d seen me go back on myself. You knew that a man who would go back on himself would go back on you when the test came.” He mused bitterly. “As I would have done,” said Jeremy Robson.
No man ever pronounced upon himself a harsher judgment.