“Goodbye, Lucy, I’m sorry to go,” Nannie murmured, hugging and kissing Lucy. “We may have had our little tiffs but it has done us both good. By the time I come back we’ll have forgotten all about them. Be sure to write me every week.”
“Goodbye, Jimmie.” She turned to her grandson.
“Dimmie,” he corrected, adding, “Ain’t I goin’?”
Nannie bent down and kissed him.
“I wish you were, darling,” she whispered.
“I want to go,” wailed Dimmie.
“No, you can’t go now,” she continued in the same whisper. “Your Mamma won’t let you. But when I come back we’ll ask Papa.”
The child began to cry lustily.
“Goodbye, Miss Powell.” Nannie kissed the newcomer again.
“Now, John.” Nannie drew him slightly apart from the others and raised her veil. “I’m going to kiss you after all,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “Don’t forget me, dear John,” she murmured, sobbing a little. “And try to get along with Lucy, no matter how hard it is.”
John thrust a slip of paper into her hand.
“You can write me there, until I get a box number, Nannie,” he advised brokenly.
A porter took her bags and she passed through the gate. Before entering the train she turned and waved her handkerchief.
“Well, I must go to the office.” John gulped, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.
“I’m going to do a little shopping. Won’t you come along, Mrs. Winter?” Miss Powell invited perfunctorily.
“No, thank you.” Lucy grasped Dimmie’s hand. “I must take this little boy home.”
Half an hour later, as John’s step was heard in the corridor, Jim, who was sitting at his table with his face buried in his hands, straightened himself and took up his drawing pencil.
John entered without any greeting and, going to his desk, began to examine his mail. After a moment he paused with an air of abstraction, and, removing from his button hole the flower that Nannie had given him, locked it in a convenient drawer and returned the key to his pocket.
Jim worked for some minutes and then rose from his chair.
“I believe I’ll go over to Benton Harbor and see about that material for Wilson’s next houses. Layard’s say that it would be best for one of us to look over the stone before cutting, as we can save considerable on the specifications by taking advantage of the natural rock wherever possible. It’s certainly worth while spending three days to save thirty percent on the shaping expenses.”
“I’ll go over,” offered John quickly.
“Why, there’s no use going for one day. I don’t expect to be back till—let’s see—today is Wednesday—Thursday—Friday—Saturday—at least not till Sunday noon.”
“I’ll go,” repeated John. “You said yesterday that you ought to keep a close eye on that concrete work in the foundations of the other row of houses we’re building for Wilson. That’s more important than the stone.”
“But I didn’t like to ask you to be away from your family so long,” protested Jim.
“I’d like the trip,” explained John. “I’m in a state of nervous fidgets, and a change would do me good.”
“All right. Just as you like,” returned Jim with a curious expression.
“I’ll go home for lunch, and get off at three o’clock,” John continued.
“The drawings and specifications are in that file marked ‘W,’ ” indicated Jim. John took the papers and went out.
He was soon in the Rosedene train.
“I’m going across the lake on business and won’t be back till Sunday or Monday,” he announced when he reached home, coming into the dining room where Lucy was seated, sewing.
She looked startled, but her only remark was, “All right, John.”
“I’ll pack my suit case now,” he told her, and started upstairs.
“Shall I have luncheon at once?” she called to him.
“No. I haven’t time. I’ll get something on the boat going across,” he answered over his shoulder.
As he passed Nannie’s room the door was ajar and he saw that the windows were open and that the room had already been scrubbed and the bedding hung out to air.
In a few minutes he returned to the lower hall, his bag in his hand. Lucy was still seated in the dining room but she rose when she heard his step.
“Are you going, John?” she asked, coming to the hall door and leaning out. He hastened his pace.
“Goodbye,” he called, going out on the veranda without looking back.
“Goodbye, John.”
She sat down to her sewing again, the tears slowly chasing each other down her cheeks.
That evening when dinner was served Lucy called Dimmie and began the meal.
“Where’s Papa?” he inquired.
“Papa’s gone away for a little while, Son.”
“Has he gone where Nannie is?” pursued Dimmie eagerly.
“No—I don’t think so,” said Lucy after a little hesitation.
When Jim left the office for the day, he made his way to a restaurant where he often dined.
“What shall I bring you, Mr. Sprague?” questioned the waiter who always served him.
Jim took up the menu listlessly.
“The fish is very nice tonight,” suggested the man.
“I don’t want any fish!” exclaimed Jim with unwonted irritation. “I don’t want any dinner,” he decided abruptly, noticing that the waiter was lingering by the table. “Bring me a large cup of black coffee.”
When he had finished his coffee, he paid his bill and went out to the street. Here he boarded a surface car and was soon at his apartment house. Reaching his room, he put on a smoking jacket and lighted his pipe. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began slowly pacing up and down the floor.
“He’ll never grade that stone right,” he remarked to the bookcase, pausing in his walk and relighting his pipe which had gone out.
Suddenly he went to the telephone and took down the receiver.
“Give me Rosedene—” He paused.
“What number did you say?” asked the operator.
“Never mind, thank you,” he responded, hanging up the receiver again.
Going to his wardrobe he exchanged the smoking jacket for a coat, and, taking his hat, descended in the elevator to the street. It was after nine o’clock when he found himself in front of
