The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
seem to interest me no more. Broadway's like that for you, George. You
go back to the girl and the cows and all of it. It'll hurt some, I
guess, but I reckon you'll be glad you did.'
She stooped swiftly, and kissed him on the forehead.
'I'll miss you, dear,' she said, softly, and was gone.
* * * * *
Rutherford sat on, motionless. Outside, the blackness changed to grey,
and the grey to white. He got up. He felt very stiff and cold.
'A Broadway dream!' he muttered.
He went to the mantelpiece and took up the photograph. He carried it to
the window where he could see it better.
A shaft of sunlight pierced the curtains and fell upon it.