The dark lay over the valley like a velvet mantel black and soft with
white wreaths of mist like a lady's veil flung aside and blown to the
breeze, but Billy saw naught but red winking lights and a jail, grim
and red in the midnight, and his friend's white face passing in beneath
the arched door. The bang of that door as it shut was echoing in his
soul.
He passed the Fenner cottage. There were lights and moving about, but
he paid no heed. He passed the Blue Duck Tavern, and saw the light in
the kitchen where the cook was beginning the day's work just as the
rest of the house had been given over to sleep. There was the smell of
bacon on the air. Some one was going away on the milk train likely. He
thought it out dully as he passed with the sick reeling motion of a
rider whose life has suddenly grown worthless to him. Over bottles and
nails, and bumping over humps old trusty carried him, down the hill to
Sabbath Valley, past the grave yard where the old stones peered eerily
up from the dark mounds like wakened curious sleepers, past the church
in the gray of the morning with a pinkness in the sky behind. Lynn
lying in a sleepless bed listening to every sound for Mark's car to
return, and recognizing Billy's back wheel squeak. On down the familiar
street, glad of the thick maples to hide him, hunching up the pajama
leg that would wave below in the rapidly increasing light, not looking
toward the Carters', plodding on, old trusty on the back porch;
shinning up the water spout, tiptoeing over the shed roof, a quick
spring in his own window and he was safe on his bed again staring at
the red morning light shining weirdly, cheerily on his wall and the
rooster crowing lustily below his window. Drat that rooster! What did
it want to make that noise for? Wasn't there a rooster in that Bible
story? Oh, no, that was Peter perhaps. He turned hastily from the
subject and gave his attention to his toilet. Aunt Saxon was squeaking
past his door, stopping to listen: "Willie?"
"Well." In a low growl, not encouragingly.
"Oh, Willie, you up? You better?"
"Nothin' the matter with me."
"Oh--"
"Breakfast ready?"
"Oh, yes, Willie! I'm so glad you're feeling better." She squeaked on
down the stairs sniffing as if from recent tears! Doggone those tears!
Those everlasting tears! Why didn't a woman know--! Now, what did he
have to do next? Do! Yes, he must do something. He couldn't just sit
here, could he? What about Stark's mountain and the winking light? What
about that sissy-guy making up to Miss Lynn? If only Mark were here now
he would tell him everything. Yes, he would. Mark would understand. But
Mark was in that unspeakable place! Would Mark find a way to get out?
He felt convinced he could, but would he? From the set of his shoulders
Billy had a strong conviction that Mark would not. Mark seemed to be
going there for a purpose. Would the purpose be complete during the day
sometime and would Mark return? Billy must do something before night.
He wished it might be to smash the face of that guy Shafton. Assuredly
he must do something. But first he must eat his breakfast. He didn't
want to, but he had to. Aunt Saxon would raise a riot if he didn't.
Well, there was ham. He could smell it. Ham for breakfast. Aw gee! Saxy
was getting extravagant. Somehow pretty soon if he didn't hang himself
he must find a way to brighten up Saxy and pay her back for all those
pink tears.