"None o' that, now. I don't need any pity from you. Keep your trap
closed about me." He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and
allowed his gaze to travel toward the ferry entrance. The despondent
note returned to his voice. "Shall we take this boat or wait for the
next?" he asked. It was as if he had said: "We are companions in
misery, you and I. Let's make the best of it."
David looked at him for a moment oddly. The humor of the situation
struck him all at once; but the smile of derision died on his lips.
After all, perhaps he was in the discard with Ernie Cronk.
"I'm going to catch this boat," he said decisively. He started off,
followed by his unchosen comrade, and caught the boat almost as it
cast off in the slip.
Mrs. Braddock and Christine were far forward. They were chatting gayly
with the blonde Mr. Stanfield, who appeared to be giving them the
latest news of the town. Old Mr. Portman sat against the deck house.
David watched the little group at the rail from a safe distance. He
allowed his fancy full play; his hopes rebounded; his confidence
revived. By the time the ferry-boat was locked in the Manhattan slip
he was buoyant with the hope and resolution of unconquered youth.
Pages:
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437