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White, Stewart Edward, 1873-1946

"The Rules of the Game"

For an
instant she yielded to him utterly; then drew away in a panic.
"My dear, my dear!" she half whispered; "not here!"


XLI

Bob rode home through the forest, singing at the top of his voice. When
he met his father, near the lower meadow, he greeted the older man
boisterously.
"That," said Orde to him shrewdly, "sounds to me mighty like relief.
Have you decided for or against?"
"For," said Bob. "It's a fine chance for me to do just what I've always
wanted to do--to work hard at what interests me and satisfies me."
"Go to it, then," said Orde. "By the way, Bobby, how old are you now?"
"Twenty-nine."
"Well, you're a year younger than I was when I started in with Newmark.
You're ahead of me there. But in other respects, my son, your father had
a heap more sense; he got married, and he didn't waste any time on it.
How long have you been living around in range of that Thorne girl,
anyway? Somebody ought to build a fire under you."
Bob hesitated a moment; but he preferred that his good news should come
to his father when Amy could be there, too.
"I'm glad you like her, father," said he quietly.


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