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"More nerves, though the head injury probably contributed." "Oughtn't I to get a doctor?" "No. All that she needs is rest." "She left the station yesterday without a word." "Yes," replied the non-committal Miss Van Arsdale. "I came over to tell her that there isn't a thing to be had going west. Not even an upper. There was an east-bound in this morning. But the schedule isn't even a skeleton yet."
"You could n't find them on two continents," answered Arsdale. The dog made overtures of friendship and he took him on his knee. Donaldson never glanced up. With the precision of a machine he bent over his shovel, lifted, and threw without pause. The men near him looked askance at such unceasing labor.
Maybe we can't see how maybe at the time we can't realize it, but it's so. Some one will get at the good in us if we just fight along, no matter how we may cover it up." Arsdale straightened in his chair. His shaking fingers clutched the chair arms. But the next second his face clouded. "Tell me what good I 've done," he demanded aggressively. Donaldson smiled.
Why that peculiar look in the inspector's eye? Why did he reach out for a chair and seat me in it before he took up my interrupted sentence and finished it? " would not give you anything to hold which had belonged to another woman? Miss Van Arsdale, you do not know men. They do many things which a young, trusting girl like yourself would hardly expect from them." "Not Mr.
Her eyes grew moist. "How am I ever going to repay you for all you 've done?" "You 've repaid me already," he answered briefly and left at once. The Making of a Man Donaldson with hands in his pockets stood in front of Arsdale, who had slumped down into a big leather chair, and admired his work.
Yet it was through this inert medium alone that Miss Arsdale could pay the debt to the father who had been so good to her; and it was only through this same unsightly shell that he, Donaldson, could in his turn repay his debt for the dreams she had quickened in him. He stepped to the telephone to tell her what he could of that which he had found and done.
"Royce Melvin, the composer, I believe. I haven't met her." "I have, then," returned the other, as the guest changed her position, fully revealing her face. "Tried to dig some information out of her once. Like picking prickly pears blindfold. That's Camilla Van Arsdale. What a coincidence to find her here!" "No! Camilla Van Arsdale? You'll excuse me, won't you? I want to speak to her.
Arsdale that she could have endured to associate with those days. She felt at ease with him there, and this made her feel that he had more right to be here now. His eager face softened when he spoke of those things. There was in it then none of that fierceness which had for a moment startled her when he spoke of the loneliness he had found here in New York.
There's character there, Ban, as well as charm." "She has other interests. No; it isn't Betty." "Ban, there are times when I could hate her," broke out Miss Van Arsdale. "Who? Betty?" "You know whom well enough." "I stand corrected in grammar as well as fact," he said lightly. "Have you seen her?" "Yes. I see her occasionally. Not often." "Does she come here?" "She has been." "And her husband?"
"I 've just had word from a friend who wishes me to spend the night with him." They both looked disappointed. "He 's waiting out there for me now." "Perhaps you will come back later," suggested Arsdale. "Not to-night. Perhaps in the morning. I 'll drop you a word if I 'm kept longer." He spoke lightly, with no trace of anything abnormal in his bearing.
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