What's
more--he insulted me!'' The blaze in Nan's black
eyes softened with a film of tears. She looked
hurt. Her pride had encountered a fall.
``Oh, no, Nan, Whit couldn't insult a lady,'' I
protested.
``Couldn't he? That's all you know about him.
You know I--I promised to kiss him if he beat
Hartford that day. So when he came I--I did.
Then the big savage began to rave and he grabbed
me up in his arms. He smothered me; almost
crushed the life out of me. He frightened me
terribly. When I got away from him--the monster
stood there and coolly said I belonged to him. I
ran out of the room and wouldn't see him any
more. At first I might have forgiven him if he
had apologized--said he was sorry, but never a
word. Now I never will forgive him.''
I had to make a strenuous effort to conceal my
agitation. The Rube had most carefully taken
my fool advice in the matter of wooing a woman.
When I had got a hold upon myself, I turned
to Nan white-hot with eloquence. Now I was talking
not wholly for myself or the pennant, but for
this boy and girl who were at odds in that
strangest game of life--love.
What I said I never knew, but Nan lost her
resentment, and then her scorn and indifference.
Slowly she thawed and warmed to my reason,
praise, whatever it was, and when I stopped she
was again the radiant bewildering Nan of old.
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