"Of course he'll come, honey," said Brick, melted by the tears that
sounded in her voice. "He won't get huffy over a foolish old codger
like Bill Atkins. Of course he'll come again and tell you about
street-cars and lamp-posts. Let him go to his work now, he's been
up all night, just to get a word with you. Let him go--he'll come
back tomorrow, I know."

Wilfred turned to Brick and looked into his eyes as he slowly
released Lahoma's hand.

"Oh!" said Brick, considerably disconcerted. "No, I reckon he won't
come back, honey--yes, I guess he'll be busy the rest of the summer.
Well, son, put 'er there--shake! I like you fine, just fine, and
as you can't come here to see us no more, being so busy and--and
otherwise elsewhere bound--I'm kinder sorry to see you go."

"Partings," said Bill, somewhat mollified, "are painful but
necessary, else there wouldn't be any occasion for dentists'
chairs."

"That's so," Brick agreed. "You called Lahoma an oasis. And what
is an oasis? Something you come up to, and go away from, and that's
the end of the story. You don't settle down and live at a spring
just because it give you a drink when you was thirsty. A man goes
on his way rejoicing, and Wilfred according."

Lahoma walked up to Wilfred with steady eyes. "Are you coming back
to see me?" she asked gravely.