“Get out of here,” Hunch growled.     

       “Say, Hunch, wake up! It's all right. We're going to be married next month.”      

       “Glad to hear it,” said Hunch, drowsily. Then he rolled over, feeling less enthusiasm than he had expected. Bruce whistled while he was undressing, and played catch with one of his shoes. Hunch could hear him chuckling after he got to bed and the light was out.     

       After that, whenever they touched at a city, Bruce would hurry up to the post-office, and would usually have on his return a perfumed letter, addressed in a slanting hand. He carried these in his pocket and re-read them frequently. His spare time was spent in writing replies with a stubby, chewed pencil.     

  

  

       CHAPTER III—THE CALL     

 TEN days before the wedding, they were lying at Manistee, waiting for a load of salt. Bruce had been growing more restless and absent-minded. The fault grew unchecked, because an instinctive fineness in Hunch held back the reproof       that would ordinarily have followed slipshod work. But about the time of the Manistee trip, Bruce appeared in a new light. He was growing self-confident and independent. The old meekness was giving place to a certain animal pride.     

T

       The last night at Manistee, Bruce went uptown to buy a present for Mamie. He met an old friend on the street and told him of his luck. This called for congratulations, and in the confidence of his new strength Bruce followed his friend through a swinging, green baize door. He returned at eleven o'clock. Hunch was in the cabin, wrestling with his accounts.     

       Bruce came slowly down the steps and balanced carefully at the bottom.     

       “Hello, Hunch,” he said, slyly.     

       Badeau looked up. Bruce walked across the cabin and sat on his bunk, holding his head erect and looking straight before him.     

       “Where you been?”      

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