And I, too, sat me down—for Eve had to take off her rubber boots—and I sat me near Old Goodwin. And he gave me once more that quiet smile of greeting that breathed of peace.
“And Mrs. Goodwin?” I asked. “Will she not see me yet?”
“Not yet,” he answered, still with that quiet smile. “But do you have patience. She will come around—at least, I hope so. It was rather—in the way of a surprise, you know. And as a surprise,” he added, with a chuckle of delight, “it was rather good—yes, it was a success.”
I sighed. I am not a patient man; and here was Old Goodwin counseling me to have patience. There is nothing harder for me to have.
“I have had patience,” I said; “and shall have it until it leaves me. And when that will be I do not know, but not so long as I can keep it with me. And, after all, I do not know that I care—except for Eve’s sake.”
“No,” he said, and the smile was gone. “You win in any case,—or so it seems to me. She loses. Remember that. She loses. And so I ask you to have patience. It is worth while, if only for Eve’s sake.”
“It is not easy for me to be patient,” I replied. “But I will,—at least I will try. That I promise, and no man can promise more. For I win in any case. She may gain a son or lose a daughter—but Eve— No, I will be patient.”
Old Goodwin had got his boots changed by this, and now he rose—Goodwin the Rich.
“I thank you, Adam,” he said. He called me Adam, too. “It will be the easier for me. And that is something to you—is it not?”
I jumped to my feet and seized his hand. “It is much to me,” I cried. “If ever you see me going wrong, I beg you to remind me. For Eve’s sake and yours. That will bring me back.”