Two days ago
he had met the girl here with Brant, and she had stopped and
shaken hands. It seemed to him it would help if that should
happen today. She might say a word; anything at all to show that
she was friends all the same with a fellow who wasn't good enough.
He longed for that. With a sick chaos of pain pounding at what
seemed to be his lungs he met her. Mrs. Anderson was between
them, putting out a quick hand; the boy hardly saw her as he
took it. He saw the girl, and the girl did not look at him.
With her head up and her brown eyes fixed on Phelps gate-way she
hurried along--and did not look at him. He could not believe it--
that girl--the girl. But she was gone; she had not looked at him.
Like a shot animal he suddenly began to run. He got to his rooms;
they were empty; Baby Thomas, his "wife," known as Archibald
Babington Thomas on the catalogue, but not elsewhere, had been
taken for Scroll and Key; he was off with the others who were
worth while. This boy went into his tiny bedroom and threw
himself down with his face in his pillow and lay still. Men
and women learn--sometimes--as they grow older, how to shut
the doors against disappointments so that only the vital ones
cut through, but at twenty all doors are open; the iron had come
into his soul, and the girl had given it a twist which had taken
his last ounce of courage.
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