"I hate to take charity, but a bet is a bet. That hundred is in my
pocket already. It's a go!"

They shook hands.

"But what will be your proof, Dick, whether I win or lose?"

"Your face, blockhead, when you come out of the room."

Upon this Pierre pondered a moment, and then turned toward the door.
He set his hand on the knob, faltered, and finally set his teeth and
entered the room.

CHAPTER XVIII

FIVE MINUTES' SILENCE

She lay as he had left her, except that her face was now pillowed in
her arms, and the long sobs kept her body quivering. Awe and curiosity
swept over Pierre, looking down at her, but chiefly a puzzled grief
such as a strong man feels when a friend is in trouble. He came closer
and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Jack!"

She turned far enough to strike his hand away and instantly resumed her
former position, though the sobs were softer. This childish anger
irritated him. He was about to storm out of the room when the thought
of the hundred dollars stopped him. It was not that he hoped to win
the money, for dollars rolled easily into his hands and out again, but
the bet had been made, and it was his pride that he would play out his
part of it. It seemed unsportsmanlike to leave without some effort.

The effort which he finally made was that suggested by Wilbur. He
folded his arms and stood silent, waiting, and ready to judge the time
as nearly as he could until the five minutes should have elapsed. He
was so busy computing the minutes that it was with a start that he
noticed some time later that the weeping had ceased. She lay quiet.
Her hand was dabbing furtively at her face for a purpose which Pierre
could not surmise.

At last a broken voice murmured: "Pierre!"

He would not speak, but something in the voice made his anger go.
After a little it came, and louder this time: "Pierre?"

He did not stir.

She whirled and sat on the edge of the bunk, crying: "Pierre!" with a
note of fright. Then she flushed richly.

"I thought perhaps you were gone. I thought--Pierre--I was afraid--I
mean I hoped--"

She could not go on.

And still he persisted in that silence, his arms folded, the keen blue
eyes considering her as if from a great distance.

She explained: "I was afraid--Pierre! Why don't you speak? Tell me,
are you angry?"

And she sprang up and made a pace toward him. She had never seemed so
little manlike, so wholly womanly. For the thick coils of hai