“He did more than that,” Billy put in quickly. “He worked at the digging faster than any of us; he had twice the power of Mumps and me, though we tried as hard as we could, and he thought of everything, and—”
“We all did as much as we could,” Max interrupted; “if either one had done less it wouldn’t have been enough.”
“That’s true. Yet your knowledge of what to do after she was uncovered saved the child. Mr. Buckman, thank him for your little girl’s life.”
Max hung back and was about to speak again when Walter pushed forward and caught Max by both hands. “I—I am the one who owes you everything, Max Ball!”
“It’s nothing,” Max objected, too upset to realize what he was saying; “I—I guess I’m even with you.”
Mr. Buckman stared at them wonderingly, and the two doctors waited a minute in embarrassed silence, realizing that here was a matter quite out of their province. With the promise of another visit later in the evening, they departed, leaving Mr. Buckman gazing questioningly at his agitated son.
“Oh, you don’t know what reason you have to be ashamed of me, father,” Walter burst out; “I’ll never be able to look you in the face again.”
He told his story, how he had listened behind the portieres when Max made his confession, how jealous he had been of Max’s popularity at school, and the way he had revenged himself.
“What? You that plucky chap that came here last winter?” Ignoring Walter, Mr. Buckman strode forward and grasped Max by the hand. “I wondered what had become of you. Now you cross my threshold again to bring my little daughter who, but for you, would be dead.” He turned away. Stern and proud, he could not trust his voice.
For a moment there was absolute silence. Mr. Buckman still held Max by the hand, while the rest waited for him to speak again, Walter with his back to the others, his shoulders drooping, the figure of abject shame.