"I had three years myself. And the best of my life, sir."
Randy nodded. "A lot of us feel that way."
"The fighting," said Kemp, "was something awful. But it was—big—and after it things seem a bit small, sir." He drew a long breath and came back to his Canton teapot and his folding table and his plans for departure.
"I'll be glad to take you in the little car, Mr. Paine."
"No," said Randy; "no, thank you, Kemp. I'll wait here until the storm is over."
Kemp, with a black rubber cape buttoned about his shoulders and standing out over his load like a
lady's hoopskirts, bobbed down the path and was gone.
Randy was glad to be alone. He was glad to get wet, he was glad of the roar and of the tumult which matched the tumult in his soul.
Somehow he had never dreamed of this—that somebody would come into Becky's life and take her away——
Nellie Custis shivered and whined. She hated thunder-storms. Randy sat down on the step and she crept close to him. He laid his hand on her head and fear left her—as fear had left Becky in the presence of Dalton.