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Updated: July 2, 2025
"All right," said Simmy, maintaining his equilibrium with some difficulty after the jerk he had received. "Don't you want me to be your friend, George?" George glared at him, and then broke into a shamed, foolish laugh. "Forgive me, Simmy. Of course, I want you as my friend. I depend upon you." "Then stop this talk about going after Braden.
He didn't, curse him, and I'll never forgive him. I'm going to wring his neck, so help me Moses. I've been a coward just as long as I intend to be. Take a good look at me, Simmy. If you watch closely you may see me turning into a man." "Get in," said Simmy, pushing him toward the door of the taxi-cab. "A little sleep is what you need."
"Just the same, sir, I cannot and will not accept," said Braden, finality in his tone. "I cannot tell you how shocked, how utterly overwhelmed I am by—" Simmy interrupted him. "I'd suggest, old fellow, that you take Mr. Thorpe's letter to your rooms and read it. Take time to think it all out for yourself. Don't go off half-cocked like this."
You may defy convention, and honour, and even common decency, but you can't beat nature out of its due. Now, look me in the eye! Why can't you marry Anne and—be everything to her, instead of nothing, as you put it? Answer me!" "It is impossible," groaned Thorpe. "You cannot understand, Simmy." "Nothing is impossible," said Simmy, the optimist.
Not more than two hundred miles from Boston and yet I was a whole day getting here." "It is peaceful, Simmy," said Thorpe. "I grant you that, by Jove. A fellow could walk in the middle of the street here for a solid year without being hit by an automobile. But as I was saying, you can make a place for yourself—" "I should starve, old fellow. You forget that I am a poor man." "Rats!
She was dancing with Percy Wintermill. "Hello, Dodge," said that young man, halting abruptly and somewhat aggressively when Simmy, without apology, clutched his arm as they swung by; "thought you'd gone. What d'you come back for?" "I haven't gone, so I couldn't come back," answered Simmy easily. "I want a word or two with Mrs. Tresslyn, old boy, so beat it."
God knows it was hard enough for them to face death out there at the front without having to think of—well, getting it anyhow if they fell into my hands. I—But there's no use speaking of it, Simmy. I wanted you to know why I got out, and I want Anne to know. As for the rest, let them think I was sick or—cowardly if they like." Simmy was silent for a long time.
"Don't you know what people would say about me if I were to operate and the patient died?—as some of them do, you know. They would say that I did it deliberately. I couldn't afford to lose in a single instance, Simmy. I couldn't take the chance that other surgeons are compelled to take in a great many cases. One failure would be sufficient. One—"
Also a curious bright radiance seem'd growing on the sky, for which I could not account. The three knaves were nowhere to be seen, but I heard their footsteps scampering in the distance, and Simmy still yelling "Satan!" I knew my bullet had hit the minister; but he had got away, and I never set eyes on any of the three again.
"Have you never asked her to make this sacrifice? Have you never given her a ray of hope on which—" "Yes,—I will be honest with you,—I asked her if she could give it up." "There you are!" said Simmy triumphantly. "I was pretty sure you had said something—" "My God, Simmy, I—I don't know what to do," groaned Thorpe, throwing himself into a chair and staring miserably into the eyes of his friend.
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