It was on Sam's lips to tell of his changed plans but he hesitated.
"I will see you at your office in an hour," he said.
Outside again in the open air Sam walked and thought of his promise. Down
by the lake he went to where the railroad with the lake beyond stopped
him. Upon the old wooden bridge looking over the track and down to the
water he stood as he had stood at other crises in his life and thought
over the struggle of the night before. In the clear morning air, with the
roar of the city behind him and the still waters of the lake in front, the
tears, and the talk with Sue seemed but a part of the ridiculous and
sentimental attitude of her father, and the promise given her
insignificant and unfairly won. He reviewed the scene carefully, the talk
and the tears and the promise given as he led her to the door. It all
seemed far away and unreal like some promise made to a girl in his
boyhood.
"It was never a part of all this," he said, turning and looking at the
towering city before him.
For an hour he stood on the wooden bridge. He thought of Windy McPherson
putting the bugle to his lips in the streets of Caxton and again there
sounded in his ears the roaring laugh of the crowd; again he lay in the
bed beside Colonel Tom in that northern city and saw the moon rising over
the round paunch and heard the empty chattering talk of love.
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