"I can't drink;
doctor won't let me. I wasn't coming in, I was just passing when I
saw you. Good-night, I'm much obliged. Good-night."
But the hospitable Norris would not be denied.
"Oh, come in and say 'good-by' to him, anyhow," he insisted. "You
needn't stay."
"No, I can't," Channing protested. "I--they'd make me drink or eat
and the doctor says I can't. You mustn't tempt me. You say 'good-by'
to him for me," he urged. "And Norris--tell him--tell him--that I
asked you to say to him, 'It's all right,' that's all, just that,
'It's all right.' He'll understand."
There was the sound of men's feet scraping on the floor, and of
chairs being moved from their places.
Norris started away eagerly. "I guess they're drinking his health,"
he said. "I must go. I'll tell him what you said, 'It's all right.'
That's enough, is it? There's nothing more?"
Channing shook his head, and moved away from the only place where he
was sure to find food and a welcome that night.
"There's nothing more," he said.
As he stepped from the door and stood irresolutely in the twilight of
the street, he heard the voices of the men who had gathered in
Keating's honor upraised in a joyous chorus.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215