Panting, but exultant, he delivered his answer in the national
competition, thus gaining a march upon the unhappy multitudes who
dwelt far away, and whose resource and energy fell short of his.
Then he looked at the time and was frightened; he would be
dreadfully unpunctual at business; Swettenham's might meet him with
stern rebuke. There was nothing for it, he hailed a cab.
Only in the middle of the morning did he remember that he had in his
pocket a love-letter to Polly Sparkes, which he had meant to post
early. He had seen Polly a few days ago, and suspected that she was
in some sort of trouble and difficulty, possibly--though she denied
it--caused by her want of employment. Polly declared that she had
resources which enabled her to take a holiday. Not very long ago
such a statement would have racked Christopher with jealous
suspicions; suspicious he was, and a little uneasy, but not to the
point of mental torture. The letter in his pocket declared that he
could never cease to love Polly, and that he groaned over the
poverty which condemned him to idle hopes; for all that, he thought
much less of her just now than of the missing word.
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