"It's a lovely evening, Mysie," he said, as he walked along by her side.
"What did you think of the games to-day?"
"Oh, no' bad," replied Mysie, not knowing what else to say. "It was a
gran' day, an' kept up fine," she continued, alluding to the weather.
"Yes. Didn't I make a horrible mess of things in the Red Hose?" he
asked. Then, without waiting, he went on: "I was sorry for Sinclair.
He's a fine chap, and ought to have won. It was purely an accident, and
I couldn't help myself. I was beaten and done for, and it was hard lines
for him to be knocked out in the way he was, just as he was on the point
of winning, too."
"Oh, but ye couldna' help it," Mysie returned. "It was an accident."
"Yes; and I would rather Sinclair had got in, though. It was a good
race, and Sinclair ought to have got the prize. It was rotten luck. I'm
sorry, and I hope the poor beggar does not blame me. We seem always to
be fated to be rivals," he continued, his voice dropping into
reminiscent tones. "Do you remember how we used to fight at school? I've
liked Sinclair always since for the way he stood up for the things he
thought were right. I believe you were the cause of our hardest battle,
and that also was an accident.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202