“Brace up, Peter; think what a good fighting chance means, think of that! It’s not as if Caddy were old; she has that on her side. She’s seven years behind me, you know.”
Peter scowled. “You’re fifty, aren’t you?”
“Not a bit. Only forty-eight, and just that, too. Now you go out and get the nurse, and I’ll stay here. It’ll do you a lot of good. Don’t mope around in the house all day—what’s the use?”
“I can’t leave the house. Honestly, Belden, I can’t. I’ve tried twice, and I just walk right back. It’s no good. There’s the cart—and you won’t be long, will you?”
Belden took up the reins with a vague sense of momentary relief: it was something to do. Under the influence of the fresh autumn air his spirits rose; he found himself enjoying the swift rattle of the cart and the beat of the horse’s feet. After all, think of Caddy’s grit; think of
