This night a ray of the setting sun slanting through the memorial
window on her bronze gold hair gave her the look of Saint Cecilia
sitting there in the dimness of the church. Billy sidled into a back
seat still chewing and watched her. He could almost see a halo in
yellow gold sun dust circling above her hair. Then a sudden revulsion
came with the thought of "that guy Judas" and the possibility that he
and the old fellow had much in common. But Bah! He would go to the
mountain just to prove to himself that there was nothing crooked in it.

The music was tender that night and Billy felt a strange constriction
in his throat. But you never would have guessed, as Lynn Severn turned
at the end of her melody to search the dimness for the presence she
felt had entered, that he had been under any stress of emotion, the way
he grinned at her and sidled up the aisle.

"Yeah, we won awright," in answer to her question, "Red Rodge and
Sloppy had 'em beat from the start. Those other guys can't play ball
anyway."

Then quite casually he brought forth the dollar from his breast pocket.

"Fer the Chinese Fund," he stated indifferently.

The look in her face was beautiful to see, almost as if there were
tears behind the sapphire lights in her eyes.

"Billy! All this?"

He felt as if she had knighted him. He turned red and hot with shame