"Oh, no, Daren; you are n.o.ble and I am...."

"Mel, in my dreams I see myself standing--plodding along the dark sh.o.r.es of a river--that river of tears which runs down the vast naked stretch of our inner lives.... I see you now, on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

Let us reach our hands across--for the baby's sake."

"Daren, it is a beautiful thought, but it--it can't be," she whispered.

"Then let me come to see you when I need--when I'm down," he begged.

"No."

"Mel, what harm can it do--just to let me come?"

"No--don't ask me. Daren, I am no stone."

"You'll be sorry when I'm out there in--Woodlawn.... That won't be long."

That broke her courage and her restraint.

"Come, then," she whispered, in tears.

CHAPTER VIII

Lane's intentions and his spirit were too great for his endurance. It was some time before he got downtown again. And upon entering the inn he was told some one had just called him on the telephone.

"h.e.l.lo, this is Lane," he answered. "Who called me?"

"It's Blair," came the reply. "How are you, old top?"

"Not so well. I've been down and out."

"Sorry. Suppose that's why you haven't called me up for so long?"

"Well, Buddy, I can't lay it all to that.... And how're you?"

The answer did not come. So Lane repeated his query.

"Well, I'm still hobbling round on one leg," replied Blair.

"That's good. Tell me about Reddie."

Again the reply was long in coming....

"Haven't you heard--about Red?"

"No."

"Haven't seen the newspapers lately?"

"I never read the papers, Blair."

"Right-o. But I had to.... Buck up, now, Dare!"

"All right. Shoot it quick," returned Lane, feeling his breast contract and his skin tighten with a chill.

"Red Payson has gone west."

"Blair! You don't mean--dead?" exclaimed Lane.

"Yes, Reddie's gone--and I guess it's just as well, poor devil!"

"How? When?"

"Two days ago, according to papers.... He died in Washington, D.C.

Fell down in the vestibule of one of the government offices--where he was waiting.... fell with another hemorrhage--and died right there--on the floor--quick."

"My--G.o.d!" gasped Lane.

"Yes, it's tough. You see, Dare, I couldn't keep Reddie here. Heaven knows I tried, but he wouldn't stay.... I'm afraid he heard my mother complaining. Say, Dare, suppose I have somebody drive me in town to see you."

"I'd like that, Blair."

"You're on. And say, I've another idea. Tonight's the Junior Prom--did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, it is. Suppose we go up? My sister can get me cards.... I tell you, Dare, I'd like to see what's going on in that bunch. I've heard a lot and seen some things."

"Did you hear how I mussed up Fanchon Smith's party?"

"You bet I did. That's one reason I want to see some of this dancing.

Will you go?"

"Yes, I can stand it if you can."

"All right, Buddy, I'll meet you at the inn--eight o'clock."

Lane slowly made his way to a secluded corner of the lobby, where he sat down. Red Payson dead! Lane felt that he should not have been surprised or shocked. But he was both. The strange, cold sensation gradually wore away and with it the slight trembling of his limbs. A mournful procession of thoughts and images returned to his mind and he sat and brooded.

At the hour of his appointment with his friend, Lane went to the front of the lobby. Blair was on time. He hobbled in, erect and martial of bearing despite the crutch, and his dark citizen's suit emphasized the whiteness of his face. Being home had softened Blair a little. Yet the pride and tragic bitterness were there. But when Blair espied Lane a warmth burned out of the havoc in his face. Lane's conscience gave him a twinge. It dawned upon him that neither his spells of illness, nor his distress over his sister Lorna, nor his obsession to see and understand what the young people were doing could hold him wholly excusable for having neglected his comrade.

Their hand-clasp was close, almost fierce, and neither spoke at once.

But they looked intently into each other's faces. Emotion stormed Lane's heart. He realized that Blair loved him and that he loved Blair--and that between them was a measureless bond, a something only separation could make tangible. But little of what they felt came out in their greetings.

"Dare, why the devil don't you can that uniform," demanded Blair, cheerfully. "People might recognize you've been 'over there.'"