"The Judge is right, sweetheart," he said. "I will not be tired with doing anything for—for her."
He covered his face with his hands. Bill entered softly. His brows lowered at sight of his father.
"What did you want with me and Roberts?" he queried shortly.
"It is all right, Bill," Jap said brokenly. "It will hurt whenever it comes, so let's get it done."
After the will was read Jap lay silent, the tears slipping down his cheeks, for Flossy's will gave all that she possessed to her son, Jap Herron. It was made the day after she knew that her own child was doomed to an early death.
They filed slowly from the room, even the Judge awed by the face of the boy.
The New Year had turned the corner when Jap was moved to the office. Little by little he grew back into harness. They did not talk of Flossy in those early days. It was not possible. One chill spring day, when the grass was greening, and the first blossoms were opening among the hyacinths on Ellis's grave, Jap walked with Bill to the cemetery. He bent above the dried wreaths with their faded ribbons, sodden and dinged by the winter's snows.
"Throw them away, Bill," he choked. "They are the tawdry tokens of mourning. I am trying to forget that mourning."
Bill gathered the dry bundles and carried them away. Coming back, he stood looking mournfully upon the muddy sod. Jap raised his eyes suddenly, and they gazed for a long minute into each other's hearts. Bill threw his hands over his eyes and cried aloud.
"Don't, Bill!" Jap's hand clutched him tightly. "For God's sake, help me to be a man!"