The Weber Literary Journal "Don't be foolish, Oh; why Reggie! Van Pelt had followed them from the house and now appeared before them. "Of course it's our dance," she smiled sweetly at him. "I was afraid you had deserted me." She took the arm of Reggie who grinned at his dejected rival. As they turned away she flung back over her shoulder, "Don't be so gloomy: I may sometime!" So this morning he had left, for he realized at last the girl's true opinion of him; a good plaything, that was all. But now this letter; it complicated matters. Why had she sent it? Was it just more acting or might there be something deeper behind it? He read it again. "Today might be different." Did that mean a possible surrender? Did it hold a hidden promise? He paced up and down the track fiercely, his brain in a turmoil. If he went back, one more day might see his long chase ended and the girl his. But then a day's delay would mean the collapse of the firm and possibly his aged father's death. Of course they wouldn't be left penniless, for their private fortunes would be practically untouched. But it was not that; a belated conscience had assailed him. His family honor and his father's happiness were at stake. The negro who had been watching him, now stepped forward to gather his bags! "I'll put them in the car, boss," he volunteered. "Leave them where they are," snapped the harrassed man as he paused in his pacing. A long, low moan swept down from the hills and the "Limited," thirty minutes late, crept over the distant horizon. Stern's glance told him that a decision was necessary immediately. Love or honor which? Back to the girl who though selfish and calculating he knew her to be, or home to a sacred duty, which? His mind seethed with indecision as he groped for the answer. Then his father's face, honest, proud, rose before him. His duty that was it. Home it would be! Shrieking brakes and hissing steam announced the arrival of the late train and he stooped for his things. His eyes 12 The Weber Literary Journal struck the note still clenched in his fist "today may be different." Yes, it was a half promise; even more, possibly. If he returned it meant happiness; if he left but he couldn't leave; a vision of a teasing, mocking face swam before his eyes. For a moment he wavered and fell. Business be damned! It must be Alice, the rest could take care of itself. As he bent down to gather his belongings, a small leather bound book fell from his pocket. It was his Kipling that he had stuffed into his coat that morning. "Lend a hand, Sam," he said as he stooped for the book. "I guess we're going back." As he picked it up, he noticed that it had opened face up and a line caught his attention. By force of habit he read it, then again and again and again. He began to grin as its true significance soaked in and he saw its bearing on his own predicament. A sudden burst of hearty laughter startled the darky and turned the eyes of the passengers his way in curiosity. "The solution absolutely," he roared, "and to think that old 'Kip' had it." From his pocket he hastily fished a pencil and heavily underlining the quotation, wrote on the margin: "Kipling decides David." "Give this to Miss Powers with my compliments," he said as he tore the page from the book. "She'll understand." Then, snatching his bags, he dashed madly, still laughing after the slowly moving train, that was to bear him to forget-fulness and duty. And the line? Oh yes. Just that one in which Kipling so cynically yet so aptly implies that there are other things in this world of ours of greater moment than mere women that line that goes, "For a woman is only a woman but a good cigar is a smoke." 13