CHAPTER XXIII. — THE SURRENDER
Jim looked up from a desk that was piled high with letters and memoranda.
“West, what do think of that?” he said, handing a type-written sheet across to the other desk.
It was an order addressed to Mattison, reinstating J. Donohue in the passenger service of the M. & T.
“He deserves it,” replied Harvey, briefly. “Shall I send it on?”
“Yes.”
Each turned back to his work. Such interruptions were rare now in Jim's office in the Washington Building. For any man of wide and commanding interests to drop his routine even for a day or so means a busy time catching up later on; and in the case of Jim, who had lost all told the better part of two weeks, the accumulation was almost disheartening, particularly to Harvey.
Although he had to come to Chicago early Friday morning, spending only one night at the Oakwood Club, it was not until Monday that Harvey was able to resume work. In the meantime he had neither seen nor heard from Katherine. During that long night at the club he had planned, in a feverish, restless way, to drive to her home in the morning; but the morning saw him speeding to Chicago, weak and nerveless. During Friday and Saturday he was confined to his room by order of the physician, but on Sunday, a bright day, he walked out.
His first letter to Katherine was written Saturday afternoon. It was a simple statement, a manly plea for what he desired more than anything else in the world, and as he read it over he felt that it must have an effect. That it deeply moved Katherine was shown by the reply which came on the following Tuesday. She did not waste words, but there was in her little note an honest directness that left Harvey helpless to reply. She made no concealment of her love, though not stating it, but repeated practically what she had said that afternoon at the club. Again it was, “We must wait—” even indefinitely. Harvey read the note many times. Tuesday night he sat down with a wild idea of answering it, but his inner sense of delicacy restrained him. She had put the matter in such a light, practically throwing herself on his generosity, his love for her, that he realized that to write again would only make her duty harder. And in the intervals when Harvey's passionate impatience gave way to calmer reflection, he knew that he loved her the better for her strength.