And there would be a row "back there." Julia would make the row. And
Jim. They might think Jim wouldn't help in the row, but he knew better.
Jim was old Jim Breede, who would of course take Bunker Bean's head off.
He had been a fool all the time. In the car he had strained himself to
the point of mentioning the Hollins boy. The flapper had laughed
unaffectedly. Tommy Hollins was a perfectly darling boy, a good sport
and all that, but he couldn't be anything important to the flapper if he
were the perfectly last man on earth. How any one could ever have
thought such an absurd thing was beyond the flapper, for one.
And she didn't want a large place: flowers and a tennis court, and she'd
do the marketing herself when she motored in for him. Moreover, he was
not to be brutally domineering. He was to curb that tendency in himself,
at least now and then, and let her have an opinion or two of her own.
She was nothing but a child, after all; he mustn't be harsh with her.
He was weak before it. Once more he opened the closet door, feeling the
need for new strength. A long time he looked into the still face. He was
a king. Was it strange that a woman had fallen before him?
He reduced the event to its rudiments. He was the affianced husband of
Breede's youngest daughter, who didn't believe in long engagements.
The thing was incredible, even as he faced Ram-tah.
How had he ever done it?
"Gee!" he muttered, "how'd I ever have the nerve to _do_ it!"
Ram-tah's sleeping face remained still.
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