A servant came to the door now, beckoning him
out. As he went, Starke watched him from under his bushy brows, smiling,
when he turned and apologized for leaving him.
That man was a thorough man, of good steel. What an infinite patience
there was in his voice! He was glad he had told him so much; he breathed
freer himself for it. But he was not going to whine. Whatever pain had
been in his life he had left out of that account. What right had any man
to know what his wife was to him? Other men had given up home and
friends and wife for the truth's sake, and not whimpered over it.
What a long time they were waiting to examine the engine! He began his
walk up and down the room, with the habitual stoop of the shoulders, and
an occasional feeble wandering of the hand to his mouth, wondering a
little at himself, at his coolness. For this was the last throw of the
dice. After to-day, no second chance. If it succeeded--Well, he washed
his hands of the world's work then. _His_ share was finished, surely.
Then for happiness! What would she say when he came back? He had earned
his reward in life by this time; his work was done, well
done,--repeating that to himself again and again.
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