His father was under opiates and in the hands of a capable nurse from the city. Alan could only tiptoe silently up to the door of the sickroom and peer anxiously into the cool, dim shadows. That sleeping form with the closed eyes, the strange, unnatural breathing, how it stabbed his heart. Of course, he could not have gone off to a desert and left his father like that.
Perhaps it was his need of being reassured after he had visited his father that led his footsteps out across the lawn and down the next street to the Washburn house. His mother did not need him. He had tucked her into her bed for a nice nap, kissed her, patted her, and told her not to worry. He had a strange lost feeling, like the first time he went to kindergarten all alone. So he wandered to his friend’s house.
Sherrill was at the piano, playing, the lamplight falling from the tall shaded lamp on her head and shoulders, bringing out the glint of gold in her hair, the delicate curve of her cheek and chin, the exquisite molding of her slim shoulders. He stood a moment and watched her wistfully. How sweet she was, and wise. What would she have advised him to do? Would she have said he must stay? But of course she would. He could not think of himself even asking her. He would not want her to think there had been any other thought in his mind for an instant, than to stick by his father. And yet— She was young! She was sane! Perhaps he had been over sentimental! He longed to hear her say it. Yet he could never ask her. The only person he could feel like asking was God, and he felt that he already knew what God would have him do.
She had stopped playing now and was wheeling a big chair up to the light. He drifted up to the open window and called her.
“Sherry, come out in the hammock and talk to me.”
She came at once, in her pretty white dress, standing in the doorway, poised for a second, while she called to her mother:
“Only out in the hammock, dearest. I shan’t be long. Alan is here!”
They sat down in the big, capacious swinging seat under the sweet-smelling pines and talked.
Sherrill had had letters from two of the girls. Priscilla Maybrick was in the Catskills having a wonderful time, and Willa Barrington had gone with an aunt to Atlantic City. They talked for a while about the comparative merits of seashore and mountains, and then a silence fell between them, a pleasant silence such as brings no embarrassment between good friends.
“Had a letter from old Hodge today,” said Alan nonchalantly, as if it were a matter of small moment. Somehow he had to let it out to someone, and Sherrill Washburn was safe and sane.
“You did!” said Sherrill interestedly. “What did he have to say? Is he still in that suburb of New York? Keith heard he had resigned.”
“Why no, he isn’t there,” Alan said. “He did resign. Hadn’t you heard? He’s a high mucky-muck in an expedition to Egypt. Archaeological, you know. Digging up some of Tut’s relatives and things like that.”
“You don’t mean it! Really! Isn’t that just wonderful? Did he say when they start?”
“Friday,” said Alan grimly. And then in a tone as if he were reporting an invitation to a pink tea, he said, quite offhandedly, “He asked me to go along.”
“Oh, Alan!” said Sherrill, clapping her hands in ecstasy and looking at him with admiration.
“Yes,” said the boy, “gave me all the dope and everything to meet him in New York, day after tomorrow.”
“Day after tomorrow!” The girl gave him a quick look, and sympathy broke into her voice.
“Oh, Alan! Then you can’t go! Of course. But isn’t that hard! You wouldn’t want to leave your father just now. Does he know about it?”
“No, and I don’t intend he shall!” said Alan, and there was a ring of purpose in his voice. “Please don’t say anything to Mother either, Sherry. It would just worry her, and she’s got enough to be anxious over now.”
“But wouldn’t they both perhaps feel you ought to have told them? It’s such an important thing. Perhaps they could make other arrangements and let you go.”
“There isn’t a chance!” said Alan briskly, thinking of the hard work he had been doing all day. “Nobody else knows about Dad’s business the way I do, and I wouldn’t trust anybody to take things over. Besides, Dad may be worse hurt than we think. The doctor can’t tell everything just yet. Of course, I know it’s a chance of a lifetime, as old Hodge said, but it can’t be helped. The way just isn’t open, that’s all. I only mentioned it because I thought you’d like to know that Hodge had asked me. I guess it’s an honor. He must know a lot of other fellows better fitted than I am.”
“Of course it’s an honor,” said Sherrill eagerly, “a great honor! But I’m not a bit surprised. I don’t believe Professor Hodge knows another boy of your age that is as dependable as you. But as for being the chance of a lifetime, you can’t tell. Maybe staying at home is the chance of yours. Things we want are not always the ones that are best for us. This may not be the chance of your lifetime at all.”
“Evidently not!” said Alan with a little laugh that hid a twinge of bitterness. “Well it was mighty nice of him to ask me anyway, and I’ve that to remember, like saving up candy you can’t eat along with your diploma and other trifling honors!”
“Have you answered him yet?” asked Sherrill thoughtfully.
“Sure! Wired him within an hour after the letter came.”
They were silent a moment, swinging back and forth under the old pine trees, Sherrill’s white dress making a patch of white in the shadows.
Footsteps were coming down the sidewalk, ringing footsteps that walked with a purpose. They paused at the rose-vine arch over the gateway and hesitated then turned in and walked more slowly up the stone flagging toward the house. About halfway up they paused, and the two in the swinging seat under the trees could see whoever it was looking toward them. They could not make out his identity. It did not seem to be any of the boys who frequented their company.
“Oh, I say, Mac, is that you?” called the visitor.
Alan rose from his seat and answered, taking a step forward.
“Yes? Did you want to see me?”
CHAPTER II
The newcomer came swiftly forward then and held out his hand. Sherrill saw that it was Robert Lincoln, Alan’s former rival on the football field.
“Hope you’ll pardon me for intruding,” he said, and there was something surprisingly humble in the boy’s tone. “I won’t keep you long. I just got a wire from Professor Hodge and I had to come and thank you. I say, Mac, you’ve been mighty good to recommend me after all that’s passed, and I sure do appreciate it. I shan’t forget it.”
“Oh, Bob, is that you?” said Alan, much embarrassed. “You say he wired? Did you get the job? Congratulations.”
“Sit down, Bob,” said Sherrill, rising. “I’m just going in the house for a sweater. It’s a little chilly.”
“Don’t go,” said young Lincoln. “It’s nothing private. You don’t mind if I tell Sherrill, do you?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” said Alan diffidently.
“I