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Updated: June 21, 2025
You see, John Wesley, Jr., had just been graduated from high school, and his family expected him to go to college in the fall, though he faced that expectation without much enthusiasm. He felt his new freedom. He addressed his rebellious remark to the League president, Marcia Dayne, a sensible girl whom he had known as long as he had known anybody in the church.
He kept up an intermittent correspondence with Joe Carbrook, and found himself thinking much about the strange chain of circumstances which promised to make a medical missionary out of Joe. He more than suspected that Joe and Marcia Dayne were vastly interested in each other's future, and he got a lot of satisfaction out of that. They would have a great missionary career.
Joe Carbrook spent little time in debate with himself; he let everybody know that he was going to be a missionary doctor, and that he would go to the State University for the rest of his college course. "But what about the religious influence of the University?" Marcia Dayne had ventured to ask him one evening as they walked slowly under the elms of Monroe Avenue.
But here was something second-rate, third-rate, half-hearted though I, who knew, saw that the man was sweating blood to exceed his limitations. Here was merely an undistinguished turn in a travelling circus which folk like Lady Auriol Dayne only visited in idle moods of good-humoured derision.
Dayne, with their pretended zeal for economy, were desperately afraid of the Post. Would Mr. Queed be kind enough to hit a final ringing blow for the right in to-morrow's paper? "That our position to-day is as strong as it is," said the kind, firm voice, "is due largely to your splendid work, Mr. Queed. I say this gladly, and advisedly.
A change had gone over the parson's kind face, making it still kinder. His sense of surrounding desolation ebbed from him. People acknowledged their heavy debt; paid as stoutly as they could. On the stairs there he saw, coming, the daughter of the man whose negligence had taken to-day a young life not easily to be spared. "They're both friends of mine," added Mr. Dayne, gently.
Your experience with the Department should be helpful to me in getting the plan launched." "Certainly I will. If you don't object, I'll talk with Mr. Dayne about it, too. He " "All right. I don't object. Well, good-night." Sharlee rose and held out her hand. His expression, as he took and shook it, suddenly changed.
Chas was tipping away from her down the well of the stairs. And she and the clergyman were walking up the corridor, his hand at her elbow, to the door with the white letters on it. As Mr. Dayne's hand touched the knob, she spoke again, very low. "Is he.... Is he much ...?" "No," said Mr. Dayne, "the injuries were internal. There's hardly a mark...." So, opening the door softly, he left her.
Dayne right, as he always was? Where was there any room for doubt? Long before Sharlee knew Charles Gardiner West personally, when she was a little girl and he just out of college, she had known him by report as a young man of fine ideals, exalted character, the very pattern of stainless honor. Her later intimate knowledge of him, she told herself, had fully borne out the common reputation.
He looked astonished; she had no idea his face could take on so much expression. "You! You! Why, how on earth did you get such a position?" "Pull," said Sharlee. Their eyes met, and she laughed him down. "Who is the real Secretary to whom you are assistant?" "The nicest man in the world. Mr. Dayne Rev. George Dayne." "A parson! Does he know anything about his subject?
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