They talked of these things while they ate their lunch. The black
waiter, who knew Derry, hovered about them. His freedom, too, had been
the culmination of a dream.
"Men laugh at the dreamers," Derry said, "then honor them after they
are dead."
"That's the cruelty, the sadness of it, isn't it?"
"Not to the dreamer. Do you think that Pere Marquette cared for what
smaller minds might think, or Frances Willard? They had their vision
backed by a great faith in the rightness of things, and so Marquette
followed the river and planted the cross, and Frances Willard blazed
the way for the thing which has come to pass."
After lunch they motored to Drusilla's. They used one of Dr.
McKenzie's cars. Derry had ceased to draw upon his father's
establishment for anything. He lived at the club, and met his expenses
with the small balance which remained to his credit in the bank.
"You can give Jean whatever you think best," he told the Doctor, "but I
shall try to live on what I have until I go, and then on my pay."
"Your pay, my dear boy, will just about equal what you now spend in
tips."
"I think I shall like it.
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