“Bill,” he said, “you fix things up. I've got to go.”
He caught a trolley car. At his room he hurriedly put on his good suit and white shirt. Then he ran for the station. At six-thirty he was in Liddington.
After supper at the hotel he walked up to Mamie's house. He had started out coolly, but suddenly, as he opened the gate, his strength seemed to leave him. He had reached the great moment of his life, and he vaguely knew it. He was so nervous that his hand was shaking when he knocked, and the things about him looked unnatural.
Mamie was nervous too; and though she talked easily enough for a while, and scolded Hunch because he had not been to see her all winter, she hardly knew what she was saying. Then came a time when neither had anything to say, and they sat for a long time without a word. Hunch's eyebrows were drawn together, almost fiercely.
“Say,” he finally got out, “will you do something for me?”
“Why—I'll do anything I can.”
“Well, I guess you can, all right. I want you to come up to Manistee with me to-morrow morning.”
“Why—” she stammered, “I can't say now—it isn't——?”
“No,” said Hunch, “you don't have to say nothing. I just want to show you something. We can be back before night.”
Mamie looked relieved.