Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters now. You're
here, and I'm here, and-- Oh, Billy-boy, I was an awful pig-headed
idiot. Do you think you can take another chance with me?"
"Say"--he held her off at arm's length admiringly--"do you want to know
how strong I am for taking a chance with you? Well, I was on my way
out to flag the next train East, just to see--just to see if you still
cared two pins; to see if you still thought your game was better than
mine."
"Well, you don't have to take any eastbound train to find that out,"
she cried gayly. "I'm here to tell you I care a lot more than any
number of pins. Oh, I've learned a lot in the last six months, Bill.
I had to hurt myself, and you, too. I had to get a jolt to jar me out
of my self-centered little orbit. I got it, and it did me good. And
it's funny. I came back here because I thought I ought to, because it
was our home, but rather dreading it. And I've been quite contented
and happy--only hungry, oh, so dreadfully hungry, for you."
Bill kissed her.
"I didn't make any mistake in you, after all," he said. "You're a real
partner. You're the right stuff. I love you more than ever. If you
made a mistake you paid for it, like a dead-game sport.
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