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"It turned out all right for me," Tom acknowledged, "because I got the best woman in the world. But"--he eyed his chief accusingly--"I went about it in a modest way; I didn't humiliate her in public."
He turned impatiently upon his companions, still pouring out their babble of congratulations.
"Come along, can't you," he cried, "and leave 'em alone. I'm a dyspeptic old married man, but I used to be young and affectionate, like Murray. After breakfast I'm going to cable Mrs. Slater to come and bring the kids with her and watch her bed-ridden, invalid husband build the rest of this railroad. I'm getting chuck full of romance."
"It has been a miraculous morning for me," said Murray, after a time, "and the greatest miracle is--you, dear."
"This is just the way the story ended in my book," Eliza told him happily--"our book."
He pressed her closer. "Yes! Our book--our bridge--our everything, Eliza."
She hid her blus.h.i.+ng face against his shoulder, then with thumb and finger drew his ear down to her lips. Summoning her courage, she whispered:
"Murray dear, won't you call me--Violet?"
THE END
