“Not yet!” said Tennelly, almost pulling his hand away from the detaining grasp.  “Some time, perhaps, but not now!  I’ve too much else on hand!  I must beat it now!  Man alive!  Do you know what time it is?  See you soon again!” Tennelly was off in a whirl of words.

“Almost thou persuadest me!” Had some one whispered the words behind him as he went?

Courtland stood looking after him till the door closed, then he turned and stepped to the window again.  He was so long standing there, motionless, that Pat went at last and touched him on the shoulder.

“Say, pard,” he said, in a low, gruff voice.  “I’m nothing but a roughneck, I know, and not worth much at that, but if it’s any satisfaction to you to know you’ve bowled a bum like me over to His side, why I’m with you!”

Courtland turned and grasped his hand, throwing the other arm about Pat’s shoulder.  “It sure is, Pat, old boy,” he said, eagerly.  “It’s the greatest thing ever!  Thanks!  I needed that just now!  I’m all in!”

They stood so for some minutes with their arms across each other’s shoulders, looking out of the window to the city, lying sorrowful, forgetful, sinful, before them; down to the street below, where Tennelly hastened on to win his Gila; up to the quiet, wise old stars above.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Tennelly did not come back as he had promised.  Instead he wrote a gay little note to tell of his engagement to Gila.  He said it was not to be announced publicly yet, as Gila was so young.  They would wait a year perhaps before announcing it to the world, but he wanted Courtland to know.  In an added line at the bottom he said:  “That was a great old speech you made the other night, Court.  I haven’t forgotten it yet.  Your reference to Marshall was a cracker-jack!  The faculty ought to have heard it.”

Courtland read it wearily, closed his eyes for a minute, passed his hand over his brow, then he handed the note over to Pat.  The understanding between the two was very deep and tender now.

Pat read without comment, but the frown on his brow matched the set of his big jaw.  When he spoke again it was to tell Courtland of the job he had been offered as athletic coach in a preparatory school in the same neighborhood with the theological seminary where Courtland had decided to study.  Courtland listened without hearing and smiled wearily.  He was entering his Gethsemane.  Neither one of them slept much that night.

In the early dawning Courtland arose, dressed, and silently stole out of the room, down through the sleeping city, out to the country, where he had gone once before when trouble struck him.  It seemed to him he must get away to breathe, he must go where he and God could be alone.

Pat understood.  He only waited till Courtland was gone to fling on his clothes in a hurry and be after him.  He had noted from the window the direction taken, and guessed where he would be.