There's got
to be a pipe-organ some day, and Bonnie will play it!"
Pat always glowed when Courtland spoke of Bonnie. He never had ceased to
be thankful that Courtland escaped from Gila's machinations. But that
very afternoon, as Courtland was preparing to hurry to the train, there
came a note from Pat, who had gone ahead, on an errand:
DEAR COURT,--Tennelly's in trouble. He's up at his
old rooms. He wants you. I'll wait for you down in the
office.
PAT.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Tennelly was pacing up and down the room. His face was white, his eyes
were wild. He had the haggard look of one who has come through a long
series of harrowing experiences up to the supreme torture where there is
nothing worse that can happen.
Courtland's knock brought him at once to the door. With both hands they
gave the fellowship grip that had meant so much to each in college.
A moment they stood so, looking into each other's eyes, Courtland,
wondering, startled, questioning. It was Gila, of course! Nothing else
could reach the man's soul and make him look like that! But what had
happened? Not death! No, not even death could bring that look of shame
and degradation to his high-minded friend's eyes.
As if Tennelly had read his question he spoke in a voice so husky with
emotion that his words were scarcely audible: "Didn't Pat tell you?"
Courtland shook his head.
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