He took the letter from his sister. "Look here, Sonnie-Boy. Here's a man says your papa is the greatest man ever was in his line."-Page 160. terialism that a man of your genius can set aside the allurements of money and fame, and exile yourself to a region where certain hardship and probable disease await you; and this only that your country may be served.' "And the rest of it! O Greg!" Welkie was back with his boy in his arms. He took the letter from his sister. "Look here, Sonnie-Boy, what do you think? Here's a man says your papa is the greatest man ever was in his line. Years from now you'll look at that letter and perhaps you'll be proud of your papa. Your papa's boasting now, Sonnie-Boy, but only you and your auntie and godfather can hear him, and they'll never tell. So that's all right. 'Our papa was as good as anybody in his line'-a great man said so. What do you say, little four-anda-half, you'll be a good man, too, in your line some day, won't you?" "Can I be a fighter, papa, on a big gunship?" "Well, if you're bound to go that way, I don't see who's to stop you, Sonnie-Boy. But if you are, whether it's a sword to your hip or a lanyard to your neck, here's hoping you'll never go over the side of your ship without"-he picked the ensign up "you leave your colors flying over her. And now we'll go back to bed, Sonnie-Boy, and this time we'll go to sleep." In the doorway he stopped. "What do you reckon Necker would say to that letter, Andie?" Balfe smiled. "He'd probably say, 'Welkie, you ought to publish that lettercapitalize it,' and think you were four kinds of a fool if you didn't." "Well, I won't publish it or capitalize it. I'm going to frame it and hang it at the foot of your bed, Sonnie-Boy, where you'll see it mornings when you wake." Facing each other across the little worktable were Marie Welkie and Andie Balfe. She had said: "You surely have been my brother's friend, and, if you were not already so successful, I could wish a great reward for you." He laid one hand of his gently down on hers. "Wish the reward then, Marie. Do, dear, wish it, for I'm not successful. I played hard at my game, because playing it made me forget other things. Al most anybody playing a game long enough becomes half-expert at it. But successful? No, no, dear. So far I seem to have travelled only unending roads through bleak countries; and I'm dreading to go back to them alone." Beyond the veranda screen the fireflies were flashing; farther out, the little green-and-red side-lights of the steaming launches, like other colored fire-flies, were sliding by; to the mastheads of the battleships the red-and-white signal-lights were winking and glowing. The night was alive with colorful things-closing her eyes, Marie could hear the lapping of little waves over pebbles, the challenging hail of a sailor on watch, the music of a far ship's band. She bent her head to hear it better-the sweetly faint cadence of that far-away band. "And when was it you began to think of me, Andie?” "Since those first days, Marie, when your brother and I bunked together in the old S. A. M. construction camp. He used to read me letters of yours from home. You were only a little girl then, and it was years before I saw you; but I knew what you looked like even before I stole your photograph "Stole?" "I did. Greg dropped it one day. I found it—and never gave it back. There it is after nine years." She laughed when she saw it. "Why, I can't make out to see what I looked like then, Andie!" "I know what you looked like. I've kissed the face away, dear, but I know. In nine years, Marie, I never shifted from one coat to another without shifting your photograph, too. If anything had happened to me, they would have found your photograph on me with your address on the back. Then,' I used to say to myself, 'She'll know. And Greg won't mind my stealing it."" He laid it face up between them on the table. "The miles you've travelled with me, dear heart, and never knew! Back in the days of the construction camp they used to find sketches of a girl's head in my note-books, a beautiful head badly done-drawn from that photograph. But after I met you "And after you met me, Andie?” "But I don't want all the world to hear, "Then I needed no photograph, though look and look at it I surely did. Steamers Andie. For my poor heart was aching, too, Andie, and now it wants it all to itself, Andie mine." in western seas, battle-ships in eastern waters, balustrades of palaces-wherever it might be I was whirling with this old earth around, I've had your face to look at. And when I couldn't see for the darkness-rolled up in my rubber poncho, in no more romantic a place than the muck of a swamp, I've looked up through the swaying branches or in the lee of a windy hill, it might be, with no more to hinder than the clear air, I've looked up and marked your face in the swirling clouds: your nose, your chin, the lips so shyly smiling. And if through the clouds a pair of stars would break, I'd mark them for your shining eyes, Marie." "Poetry again, Andie!" She was laughing, but also she was melting under his eyes. It was taps on the battle-fleet. Over the mellowing, detaining waters of the bay the long-drawn bugles echoed. Goodnight, good-ni-i-ght, g-o-o-d-n-i-g-h-tthey said, and gently, softly, whisperingly died away. "He's asleep at last." Welkie was standing in the door. "And I don't know but we'd all better be getting to sleep, too. For to-morrow morning, you know, we- Wha-at!" Welkie's friend was standing before him. "Shunt care for the morrow, Greg. Greater things than have happened are happening around you. The dream of years has come to pass. And we—we, Greg-” He looked to her, and tremulous, vivid, she came, and with her at his side he was himself again. "Marie is to take me for Sonnie-Boy's uncle, and, Greg, we want your blessing." |