“I will, sir.”
“An’ by the way. You needn’t drive into town with that key. I’m goin’ to Mr. Benton’s myself, an’ I’ll take it.”
“All right.”
The boy watched Martin go down the driveway; but at the gate the man wheeled about and shouted back:
“You’ll be sure not to forget Miss Lucy’s flowers, Tony.”
“I’ll remember ’em.”
“An’ if I should have to be away for a while—a week, or a month, or even longer—you’ll do the best you can while I’m gone.”
“I will, sir.”
With a farewell gesture of his hand Martin passed out of the gate. To have witnessed the buoyancy of his stride, one would have thought him victorious rather than defeated. The truth was, the scent of battle was in his nostrils. For a lifetime he had been the champion of Hate. Now, all the energies of his manhood suddenly awakened, he was going forth to fight in the cause of Love.