'Thank you. I--I was just sorta looking around.'
The salesman began replacing the trays.
Henry moved away; slowly, irresolutely, at first; then, as he passed out
the door, with increasing speed. At the corner of Randolph he was racing
along. He caught the two-fourteen for Sunbury by chasing it the length
of the platform. Henry could do the hundred yards under twelve seconds
at any time with all his clothes on. He could do it under eleven on a
track.
By a quarter to three he was walking swiftly, with dignity, up Simpson
Street. He turned in at the doorway beside Hemple's meat-market and ran
up the long stairway to the offices above.
Humphrey strolled in from the composing room.
'Seen those people already, Hen?'
'I--you see--well, no. I'm going right back in. On the three-eight.'
'Going back? But----'
'It's this way, Hump. I--it'll seem sorta sudden, I know--you see, I
want to get an engagement ring. There's one that would do all right, I
think, for--well, a hundred dollars--and I was wondering....'
Humphrey stared at him; grinned.
'So you've gone and done it! You don't say! You are a bit rapid, Henry.
The lady must have been on the train.'
'No--not quite--you see...'
'Got to be done right now, eh? All in a rush?'
'Well, Hump...
'Wait a minute! Let me collect my scattered faculties. If you've got to
this point it's no good trying to reason----'
'But, Hump, I'll be reasonable----'
'Yes, I know. Now listen to me! This appears to come under the general
head of emergencies. We're not quite in such bad shape as we were a
month back. There's a little advertising revenue coming in. An----'
'Yes, I thought----'
'And you've certainly sunk enough in this old property--'
'No more than you, Hump----'
'Just wait, will you! I don't see but what we've got to stand back of
you. Perhaps we'd better enter it as a loan from the business to you
until I can think up a better excuse. Or no, I'll tell you--call it a
salary advance. Well, something! I'll work it out. Never you mind now.
And if you're going to stop at the bank and catch the three-eight you'll
have to step along.'
It would have interested a student of psychophysics, I think, to slip a
clinical thermometer in under Henry's tongue as he sat, erect, staring,
with nervously twitching hands and feet, on the three-eight train.
4
To Cicely's house Henry hurried after bolting a supper at Stanley's
restaurant and managing to evade Humphrey's amused questions when he
heard them.
It was early, barely half-past seven. The Watt household had dinner (not
supper) at seven. They would hardly be through. He couldn't help that.
He had waited as long as he could.
He rang the bell. The butler showed him in. He sat on the piano stool in
the spacious, high-ceiled parlour, where he had waited so often before.
To-night it looked like a strange room.
He told himself that it was absurd to feel so nervous. He and Cicely
understood each other well enough. She cared for him. She had said so,
more than once.
Of course, the little matter of facing Madame Watt... though, after all,
what could she do?
He tried to control the tingling of his nerves.
'I must relax,' he thought.
With this object he moved over to the heavily upholstered sofa and
settled himself on it; stretched out his legs; thrust his hands into his
pockets.
But there was an extraordinary pressure in his temples; a pounding.
He snatched a hand from one pocket and felt hurriedly in another to
see if the precious little box was there; the box with the magical name
embossed on the cover, 'Weldings.'