"Thank you. It's good to come—yet it's—it's hard."
Lenore saw his throat swell. His voice seemed low and full of emotion.
"Bad news to tell," said Anderson. "Wal, forget it.… Have you had supper?"
"Yes. At Huntington. I'd have been here sooner, but we punctured a tire. My driver said the I.W.W. was breaking bottles on the roads."
"I.W.W. Now where'd I ever hear that name?" asked Anderson, quizzically. "Bustin' bottles, hey! Wal, they'll be bustin' their heads presently.… Sit down, Dorn. You look fine, only you're sure pale."
"I lost my father," said Dorn.
"What! Your old man? Dead?… Aw, that's tough!"
Lenore felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to go to Dorn. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said.
"That is a surprise," went on Anderson, rather huskily. "My Lord! But it's only round the corner for every man.… Come on, tell us all about it, an' the rest of the bad news.… Get it over. Then, mebbe Lenore n' me—"
But Anderson did not conclude his last sentence.