"He's
the one she's in love with."
David started. "You mean--she's in love with him?" he demanded
blankly.
"That's Bertie Stanfield. He's a great swell. He was here to meet her.
I saw him. It's--it's no use, David. No one else has got a show." His
inclusion of David in his own misfortune, though by inference, would
have been amusing at another time. Somehow, at this moment, it struck
David as tragic. Was it possible that he was to find himself in the
same boat with this unhappy, uncouth worshiper?
He pulled hard at the end of his short mustache, and swallowed hard
with involuntary abruptness.
"I--I have heard of him," he said, a sudden chill creeping into his
veins.
"Did she--did she speak to you?" asked Ernie. The hard look was
creeping back into his eyes.
"She didn't see me," muttered David.
"She spoke to me. She always does," said Ernie, twisting his fingers.
"But," he went on, almost in a wail, "it's because she--she pities
me!"
David's heart was touched. He laid his hand on Cronk's shoulder and
was about to speak kindly to him. The other drew back, shaking off the
compassionate hand.
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