Читать книгу A Battle for Right; Or, A Clash of Wits онлайн

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But Bob Gordon did not wait to see the battle.

“Coward!”

The hateful, ignominious word seemed to pursue him, as, with bent head, he forced his way through the crowd to escape from the garden. Once clear of the lights and jeering faces, he strode rapidly to a remote part of the extensive grounds that were all part of the Savoy premises.

What should he do? He could not stay up in the woods and work as a lumberman any longer. The men would make life unbearable for him—unless he were to fight a few of them.

“No, I cannot do that!” he moaned. “I cannot do that!”

It was as he uttered this lament in an incoherent wail that was somehow like the cry of a wounded animal, that a white figure came bounding toward him among the trees.

“Oh, Mr. Gordon!” she panted. “I had to come and thank you for taking my part so nobly!”

“Nobly?” he echoed bitterly. “Don’t you know that there was more of it after that, and that I was anything but noble then?”

“I know,” she answered. “And I think you were quite right. You’d done enough.”