“You know what I did out there at Rosedale--followin’ you that way. I guess I was sick then, and my head wasn’t right. It seemed kind o’ funny to be takin’ you a ride in _his_ machine with _him_. And the widder, too. It was kind o’ funny, him and the widder bein’ out there. I ain’t onto the widder but she’s a good looker all right. But the Colonel--say, he’s frosted fruit. He ain’t got much use for me. I can see it in his eye. But Sister Fanny--that’s Mrs. Blair--I’m strong for her. She’s the human featherduster, all right, but she means good. You know I never lived round rich folks till Mr. Wayne set me up as chauffeur and moved me into the garage. Guess I might ’a’ been rich myself if I hadn’t fell off the bus at Harrisburg and cracked my right pipe. But say, Jean, I never tell the boss, but I can pitch with my left arm just as good as the right. I got a new southpaw ball that would worry the boys some if I went into the game again. But I told Father Jim I would cut it out and hang on to chaufferin’, which ain’t what you might think with the speed limit what it is, if he thought Mr. Wayne needed me. You see I’m onto his curves and know how to handle him.” “Yes, Joe; I’m sure you have repaid him for his kindnesses to you.” It was not easy to hear Wayne Craighill spoken of in this way. If it had not been that she realized the depth of Joe’s fidelity and devotion to Wayne she could not have stood it. For Joe saw in Wayne’s lapses only the pardonable escapades of a young man of fortune whose spectacular performances were free from the ignominy that attaches to drunken outbreaks of the poor and obscure. Joe felt that he was not saying the right thing; Jean’s inattention warned him to stop. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her lips had been shut tight during his wandering recital. When she and Wayne had sat here in this room with Joe between them she had resolved upon a course that would abruptly change the channel of her life--that might blight and wreck it irrecoverably. She had already made her purpose clear to Wayne and that had been hard; and she had Joe to tell now and that was more difficult, for while Wayne could understand what it meant to her, she knew that Joe was incapable of understanding. She had brought herself by slow, difficult steps to the high altar of duty and was ready now to make confession and yield up her sacrifice. “Joe, there’s something I must tell you. I’ve been waiting to tell you until you were well enough to hear.” “I’m all right, Jean; go ahead,” he said, turning so that he might see her better.