Bill sat doubled over the case, the stick held listlessly in his hand.
Nervously he fingered the copy, not knowing what he was reading. From
time to time he slid down from the stool and lounged across the big
office to the street door. Vacantly he returned the greetings of his
townsmen, as he gazed past them, across the corner of the little park
that lay, brown and gold, in the glory of Indian Summer, across the
intervening street where Tom Granger's sedate old house looked out on
the leaf-strewn lawn. He could see Tom Granger, pacing up and down the
walk. He could see Jap, sitting under the great elm, his face hidden
in his hands.
"Poor old Jap," Bill muttered, brushing aside a tear, as he returned
once more to his case, "life has slammed him so many tough licks that
he is always cringing, afraid of another lick."
The morning wore on. Bill gave up the effort at type-setting and tried
to apply himself to the exchanges, so that he could the better watch
the front of that house. He was near the door, trying to read, when,
all at once, Tom stopped pacing. Jap sprang up and bounded across the
lawn and into the front door. A white-capped nurse ran through the
wide hall, and in a little while Mabelle put her head out of an upper
window and peered over at the office. Bill pushed his chair back and
tramped heavily to the pavement. Then he tramped back again.
"Certainly there are enough of them to let somebody come here with
news," he growled. "They don't seem to know that there are
telephones--or that I would care."
Half an hour dragged. Then, all alone, his face shining with holy joy,
Jap hurried to the office. For a moment neither could speak. Hand in
hand, heart beating with heart, they stood looking into each other's
eyes. Then Jap said huskily:
"Do you remember what Ellis said, that day when his greatest joy came?"
Bill flung his arms around Jap and hugged him lustily.
"Get out all the roosters?" he cried, tears gushing from his brown eyes.
"And," said Jap slowly, "Isabel wants to call him Jasper William."
THE END