It is one of the most hopeful facts of life that all mankind is so ready to recognize, and to applaud, an action which is fine. Wint was in the hands of his friends. He thought, for a little while, that they would kill him. * * * * * When it was all over--and this took time, and left Wint sore and stiff from hand-shaking and back-slapping--the people began to drift away. And Wint escaped, off the stage, into one of the compartments that served as greenroom for theatrical folk. His father was there, and his mother. And Peter, and Amos, and Sam. Every one seemed to be wild with exultation; they continued the celebration, there among themselves. And Wint heard how it had been done. Hetty had gone to Amos with the story. To Joan first, Sam told Wint. “I was with her,” the fat man said. “You understand. I was with her.” Wint nodded, gripping Sam’s shoulder. “She’s fine,” he said. “You’re lucky. I understand.” Joan, Sam said, sent them to Amos, and Amos had arranged the rest; sent Wint home--Gergue was his agent in this--and spread the word through Hardiston. To-night had attested the thoroughness of his work. Wint found a chance at last to thank Amos. They were a little apart from the others; and they talked it over briefly. Amos, Wint thought, was curiously subdued, curiously sad. He wondered at this. But he understood, at the end. He had said: “Wonder what Routt will say to this, anyway? And Kite?” “You don’t have to--worry about Routt,” said Amos. Wint asked quickly: “Why not? Is he ... Is there something?” “He took the noon train,” said Amos. “And--Agnes went with him. She telephoned to-night. She says they’re married.” Wint was so stunned that for a moment he could not speak; he could not move. He managed to grip Amos’s hand; tried to say something. “I’ve said to myself, more than once,” Amos told him huskily, “that I wished her mother hadn’t ’ve died.” He began, slowly, to fill his pipe. Wint thought there was something heroic, splendid about the man. Facing life, driving ahead. And this to think upon.... He was sick with sorrow. Amos was facing the stage; he said slowly, smiling a little, “but forget that. Here’s some one coming for you to see her home.” When Wint turned, he saw Joan. CHAPTER V SEEING JOAN HOME They walked home slowly, Wint and Joan. The moon was bright upon them; the streets were still filled with the dispersing throng. People spoke to them, then went discreetly on their way, and smiled back at the two. Wint and Joan said little; and what they said was of no importance. He told her he had seen her crying. “I had to,” she said. “I was so happy.” “I wasn’t happy,” Wint declared. “I was scared.” She said she didn’t blame him. “It must have been hard to face them all.” He nodded. “I’ll tell you; all that noise.... It--made me seasick. Something like that.” “I know,” she said.