This did not require so long as one would have thought, considering that person's boasts as to his courage, but, at that, Stott might well be excused for wishing to end the punishment he was receiving. In the face above him, almost brutal in the fury that stamped it, there was no trace to remind Stott of the youth who had painted cabbage roses and knit sweaters.
"Let me up!" he cried, finally, struggling under the merciless blows that rained upon him.
"Say it!" Wallie's voice was implacable.
"'Nough!" Stott whined it.
Wallie stopped immediately, and the attorney got to his feet, sullen and humiliated. He stood for a moment rubbing his neck and eyeing Wallie; then with a return of defiance flung at him: "You'll pay for this, young fellow!"
Wallie's short laugh 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.