"A pen, a pen,"-- he cried, "my kingdom for a pen." He was tugging at his gloves as he spoke, and in the clatter that he made, Barclay found the blank note and pushed it toward the table's edge to Brownwell, who put his ornate copy-book signature upon it with a flourish.
When he had gone, Barclay wrote a note to Jane telling her of Molly's engagement to Brownwell, and then he sat posting his books, and figuring up his accounts.

It was after midnight when he limped down the stairs, and the rain had ceased.

But a biting wind like a cruel fate came out of the north, and he hurried through the deserted street, under lowering clouds that scurried madly across the stars.
But John Barclay could not look up at the stars, he broke into a limping run and head downward plunged into the gale.

And never in all his life could he take a square look at Molly Culpepper's diamond ring.
As the spring deepened Bob Hendricks felt upon him at his work the pressure of two distinct troubles.

One was his sweetheart's attitude toward him, and the other was the increasing weakness of his father.
Molly Culpepper's letters seemed to be growing sad; also they were failing in their length and frequency--the young man felt that they were perfunctory.