augh was mocking.

"Why don't you sue me for damages? I'd be flattered to death at the
implication that I had any money. It might help my credit."

With a shrug he turned and walked toward Helene Spenceley. Her eyes were
shining, and there was a singular smile on her face as he went up to
her, but whether she smiled or frowned did not seem to matter much to
Wallie.

He was not a pretty sight at the moment, and he knew it. A lump had
risen on his jaw and one eye was closing, his hair was powdered with
gypsum dust, and the sleeve of his shirt was torn out at the shoulder,
but he had no apologies to make for anything and there was that in his
manner which said so.

Helene laughed as she put out her hand to him.

"Was that a part of the regular programme or an impromptu feature of the
day's entertainment?"

"It's been brewing," Wallie replied, briefly.

"Aren't you surprised to see me?"

"Not particularly."

"Or glad?"

"I'm always that."

"This came yesterday while I was in Prouty, and I volunteered to deliver
it. I thought it might be important." She handed him a telegram.

"That was good of you." His face softened a little, and still more as he
read the message.

He passed it to Helene:

Will you come home if I tell you I was wrong and want you?

AUNT MARY.

Wallie mused softly:

"It must have been hard for her to write that."

"Will you go?" Helene asked, quickly.

Wallie did not answer. He stood motionless, staring at the road where
the heat waves shimmered, his absent gaze following a miniature cyclone
that picked up and whirled a little cloud of powdered gypsum, while
Helene waited.

Her eyes were upon his face with an expression that would have arrested
his attention if he had seen it, but he seemed to have forgotten her and
her question.

When he spoke, finally, it was to himself, rather, as if in denunciation
of the momentary temptation which the telegram had been to him.

"No!" emphatically, "I'm not going back like a prodigal who can't stand
the gaff any longer! I won't slink into a soft berth because it's
offered, and admit that I'm not man enough to stand up and take what
comes to me! I'm licked again--proper--and," harshly, "I don't expect
anybody to believe in me, but I won't _stay_ licked if I can help it!"

"I'm said to be a good 'picker,' and I've always believed in you,
Wallace Macpherson," Helene said, slowly.