Powell found a delight that must have been keener than Marley's in Marley's fidelity to Chicago, expressed quite in the boastful frankness of the citizens of that city when abroad, though to Marley it seemed that he was putting it on them by doing so. He found them all, however, in a spirit of loyalty to Macochee that might easily have become combative. "Well, little old Macochee's good enough for us, eh, Wade?" they would say. Marley would not let them be ahead of him in praise of Macochee, and Powell himself softened enough to admit that old Ohio was a pretty good place to have come from. When they suddenly encountered Carman in the street, Marley flushed with confusion, first for himself and then vicariously for Powell. But there was no escape from a situation that no doubt exaggerated itself to his sensitiveness, and he was soon allowing Carman to hold his hand in his right palm while with the other Carman solicitously held Marley's left elbow, and transfixed him with that left eye which still refused to react to light and shade. "Well, how are you?" asked Carman. "How are you, anyway?" "Oh, I'm all right." "Guess you're glad now I didn't give you that job, eh?" Marley could not look at Powell, but he hastened to say: "Yes, I'm glad, now." "Maybe it was for the best," said Carman. When they had left him Marley quickly and crudely tried to change the subject, but Powell insisted on saying: "I want you to know that I've always felt like a dog over that." "Oh, don't mention it," Marley begged. "I was honest when I told Carman I was glad it turned out as it did." "Yes," said Powell, "I guess it was all for the best." To Marley's relief they dropped the matter then, and went over to Con's Corner. There Powell lighted a cigar, and Marley could not resist asking for a brand of cigarettes, the kind that Weston smoked, though he knew that Con would not have them. He felt mean about it afterward, but he could not forego some of the petty distinctions of living in a city and he indulged a little revenge toward the people who had deserted him in what had seemed to him his need, and now, in what seemed to them his prosperity, were so ready to rally to him. Marley went home at noon feeling that his triumph had been almost as great as if he had come home in a private car. His triumph soon was at an end; they came to the afternoon of the day when Marley was to return to Chicago. It was a golden day, with a sun shining out of a sky without clouds, and yet a delicious breeze blew out of the little hills. Marley and Lavinia walked out the white and dusty pike that made the road to Mingo. They walked slowly along the edge of the road, in silence, under the sadness of the parting that was before them. They longed ineffably that the moments might be stayed; somehow they felt they might be stayed by their silence.