Howard started toward the door. After two or three steps he turned hesitatingly.
“Wendell—Ray—would you mind shaking hands with me?” he asked.
Ray extended his hand immediately. Howard seized it convulsively with both of his, while his whole frame quivered, and tears started to his eyes afresh. It was but a moment, and then Howard turned to go away. He had already reached the door when something seemed to occur to him, and he wheeled about and came back.
“Ray,” he said, “there is something else I must tell you. You remember the night we brought the cannons back from Berkeley. It was I that borrowed your match box that night, and I dropped it by the cannon on purpose.”
Howard paused.
“I knew it,” answered Ray quietly, “or at least, felt quite sure of it. Well, what of it?”
“Well, I thought you ought to know it, that was all,” answered Howard. Then without another word he passed out of the door.
Ray stood looking after him thoughtfully. I came up and touched him on the arm.
“Ray,” said I, “you are a splendid fellow.”