subjected to so much pressure that it had become flaccid. The pressure
removed, it would be some time before the heart could act upon the
message of good tidings the brain had conveyed to it. For a long time
he remained silent. And Drake respected his silence to the letter. Then
Garrison uncovered his eyes.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe it," he whispered, wide-eyed. "It
is too good to be true. It means too much. You're sure you're right,
Jimmie? It means I'm proven clean, proven square. It means reinstatement
on the turf. Means--everything."

"All that, kid," said Drake. "I thought you knew."

Garrison hugged his knees in a paroxysm of silent joy.

"But--Waterbury?" he puzzled at length. "He knew I had been exonerated.
And yet--yet he must have said something to the contrary to Miss Desha.
She knew all along that I was Garrison; knew when I didn't know myself.
But she thought me square. But Waterbury must have said something. I can
never forget her saying when I confessed: 'It's true, then.' I can never
forget that, and the look in her eyes."

"Aye, Waterbury," mused Drake soberly. He eyed Garrison. "You know
he's dead," he said simply. He nodded confirmation as the other stared,
white-faced. "Died this morning after he was thrown. Fractured skull. I
had word. Some right-meaning chap says somewhere something about saying
nothing but good of the dead, kid. If Waterbury tried to queer you, it
was through jealousy. I understand he cared something for Miss Desha.
He had his good points, like every man. Think of them, kid, not the bad
ones. I guess the bookkeeper up above will credit us with all the times