After that the boy and the dog sat like statues, looking out, and in those tense and terrible moments a new spirit was born in Randolph Paine. Hitherto he had let life bring him what it would. He had scarcely dared hope that it would bring him Becky. But now he knew that if he lost her he would face—chaos——
Well, he would not lose her. Or if he did, it would not be to let her marry a man like Dalton. Surely she wouldn't. She couldn't—— But there had been that light in her eyes, that flame in her cheek—that lack of fear—Dalton's air of assurance, the way she had turned to him.
"Oh, God," he said suddenly, out loud, "don't let Dalton have her."
He was shaken by an emotion which bent his head to his knees. Nellie Custis pressed close against him and whined.
"He shan't have her, Nellie. He shan't——"
He burned with the thought of Dalton's look of triumph. Dalton who had carried Becky off, and had left him with Kemp and a Canton teapot.
He recalled Kemp's words. "After it things seem a bit small, sir."
Well, it shouldn't be small for him. It had seemed so big—over there. So easy to—carry on.
If he only had a fighting chance. If he had only a half of Dalton's money. A little more time in which to get on his feet.