He hadn't been out of the office since last Sunday night, he
said. You had to ask him a question and wait--while he looked at you and
held onto his chair. He broke down and blubbered--the poor damn fool--he'll
be in Matteawan in a week--"
"You'll be there yourself if you don't come home," broke in Edith's voice
impatiently.
"And out of that poor devil, and out of the mess his books are in, I've
been learning engineering!"
He had followed his wife out on the steps. He turned back with a quick
appealing smile:
"Well, good-night--see you soon--"
"Good-night, my boy," said Roger. "Good luck to the engineering."
"Oh, father dear," cried Edith, from the taxi down below. "Remember supper
Sunday night--"
"I won't forget," said Roger.
* * * * *
He watched them start off up the street. The night was soft, refreshing,
and the place was quiet and personal. The house was one of a dozen others,
some of red brick and some of brown stone, that stood in an uneven row on a
street but a few rods in length, one side of a little triangular park
enclosed by a low iron fence, inside of which were a few gnarled trees and
three or four park benches. On one of these benches his eye was caught by
the figure of an old woman there, and he stood a moment watching her, some
memory stirring in his mind.
Occasionally somebody passed. Otherwise it was silent here. But even in the
silence could be felt the throes of change; the very atmosphere seemed
charged with drastic things impending.
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