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And now he faced her. How strange the blaze in
his differently colored eyes! "Lucy Bostil, there's been thet done an' said to
me which I'll never forgive. I'm no good in Bostil's Ford. Mebbe I never was
much. But I could get a job when I wanted it an' credit when I needed it. Now
I can't get nothin'. I'm no good! . . . I'm no good! An' it's your fault!"
"Oh, Joel, what can I do?" cried Lucy.
"I reckon there's only one way you can square me," he replied, suddenly
growing pale. But his eyes were like flint. He certainly looked to be in
possession of all his wits.
"How?" queried Lucy, sharply.
"You can marry me. Thet'll show thet gang! An' it'll square me. Then I'll go
back to work an' I'll stick. Thet's all, Lucy Bostil."
Manifestly he was laboring under strong suppressed agitation. That moment was
the last of real strength and dignity ever shown by Joel Creech.
"But, Joel, I can't marry you--even if I am to blame for your ruin," said
Lucy, simply.
"Why?"
"Because I don't love you."
"I reckon thet won't make any difference, if you don't love some one else.


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