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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Simmy! Oh, Simmy!" she cried out, a hysterical laugh in her throat that died suddenly in a strange, choking way. She was looking at him now with wide, comprehending eyes. "I can't bear to see you married to that old man, Anne," he went on. "It is too awful for words. You are one of the most perfect of God's creations.
In the meantime, Simmy had developed into a most unsatisfactory informant. He suddenly revealed an astonishing streak of uncommunicativeness, totally unnatural in him and tantalising in the extreme. He rarely mentioned Anne's name and never discussed her movements.
It can only say that we are free to love some one else if we feel so inclined without being the least bit troubled by our marriage vows. But George and I are still married to each other, and we are still thinking of our marriage vows. The simple fact that we love each other proves a whole lot, now doesn't it, Simmy?
You've got everything that a man ought to have except one thing, and you can get that if you make up your mind to go after it." "What's that?" said George, vaguely interested. "Independence," said Simmy. "Do you know what I'd do if I had that body and brain of yours?" "Yes," said George promptly. "You'd go out and lick the world, Simmy, because you're that kind of a feller.
An instant later he rushed over and enveloped both of them in his long, strong arms and shouted out that he was crazy too. Anne's letter to Simmy was a long one, and she closed it with the sentence: "You may expect me not later than the twentieth of September."
"Then say to her for me that she must keep the money, every penny of it." Simmy was staggered. "But she—she doesn't want it," he muttered, lamely. His face brightened. "I say, old boy, why let the measly money stand in the way? Take her and the money too. Don't be so darned finicky about—" "Come, come, old fellow," protested Thorpe, eyeing him coldly. "All right," said Simmy resignedly.
His brow was unclouded, his eyes sparkled and his voice rang with all the confidence of extreme felicity. There was no question in Simmy's mind as to the outcome. Braden would pull the old gentleman through, sure as anything. Absolutely sure, that's what Simmy was, and he told other people so. "Fine as silk!" he shouted back in answer to Anne's low, suppressed inquiry.
"Be careful, Brady, old top," said Simmy, shaking his head. "It won't do to call Wade names, you know. Just stop and think for a second or two." Thorpe relaxed with a gesture of despair. "You are right, Simmy. Why should I blame Wade?" He got up and began pacing the floor, his hands clenched behind his back.
I'll see Simmy this afternoon, as you suggest, and—" he hesitated, the worried look coming into his eyes once more—"Oh, I say, Anne, I can't help repeating what I said about your seeing Braden. Don't—" "Good-bye, George," she broke in abruptly, a queer smile on her lips. Braden Thorpe realised that he would have to pay, one way or another, for what had happened in the operating room.
"You're looking thin and sort of pegged out, old boy," began Simmy soothingly. "I'm all right, Simmy. Sound as anything. I don't mind telling you that it wasn't my health that drove me out of the service,—and that's what hurts. They—they didn't want me. They thought it was best for me to get out." "Good Lord!" gasped Simmy, struggling between amazement and indignation.
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