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The Indiscreet Letter
written by "Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell, 1872-1958"
...t, so that I can tell exactly just what object is there. And, anyway," she quoted a little waveringly: "He either fears his fate too much, Or his, deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all!" "Ain't you scared just a little bit?" probed the Traveling Salesman. All around them the people began bustling suddenly with their coats and bags. With a gesture of impatience the Youngish Girl jumped up and started to fasten her furs. The eyes that turned to answer the Traveling Salesman's question were brimming wet with tears. "Yes—I'm—scared to death!" she smiled incongruously. Almost authoritatively the Salesman reached out his empty hand for her traveling-bag. "What you going to do if he ain't there?" he asked. The Girl's eyebrows lifted. "Why, just what I'm going to do if he is there," she answered quite definitely. "I'm going right back to Montreal to-night. There's a train out again, I think, at eight-thirty. Even late as we are, that will give me an hour and a half at the station." "Gee!" said the Traveling Salesman. "And you've traveled five days just to see what a man looks like—for an hour and a half?" "I'd have traveled twice five days," she whispered, "just to see what he looked like—for a—second and a half!" "But how in thunder are you going to recognize him?" fussed the Traveling Salesman. "And how in thunder is he going to recognize you?" "Maybe I won't recognize him," acknowledged the Youngish Girl, "and likelier than not he won't recognize me; but don't you see?—can't you understand?—that all the audacity of it, all the worry of it—is absolutely nothing compared to the one little chance in ten thousand that we will recognize each other?" "Well, anyway," said the Traveling Salesman stubbornly, "I'm going to walk out slow behind you and see you through this thing all right." "Oh, no, you're not!" exclaimed the Youngish Gir...

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