"
"Very apologetically your friend,
"HOLMAN SOMMERS."
It took several seconds for the full significance of that last
paragraph to sink into minds so absorbed with another matter. But when
it did sink in--
"Oh-h!" gasped Helen May, and backed a step, her face the color of a red
hollyhock.
Starr looked up from reading those pregnant words a second time to
himself. He reached out and caught Helen May by her two shoulders.
"Did you do that?" he whispered impellingly. "Did you spell my name into
that man's manuscript?"
"No, I didn't! I don't believe I did--I never noticed--well, even if I
did, that doesn't mean--anything." I hope the printers will set that
_anything_ in their very smallest type, just to show you how weak and
futile and scarcely audible and absolutely unconvincing the word sounded.
For one reason, Helen May did not have much breath to say it with; and
for another reason, she knew there was not much use in saying it.
* * * * *
Helen May, sitting unabashed on Starr's lap, with an arm around his
neck and her head on his shoulder, with her dish towel and gun lying
just where she had dropped them on the floor some time before, took
Peter's last letter from Starr's fingers and drew it tenderly down
along her cheek.
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