He had a long afternoon of anguishes, these becoming most violent when he tried to face the problem of his future course toward Milla.  He did not face it at all, in fact, but merely writhed, and had evolved nothing when Friday evening was upon him and Milla waiting for him to take her to the “band concert” with “Alb and Sade.”  In his thoughts, by that time, this harmless young pair shared the contamination of his own crime, and he regarded them with aversion; however, he made shift to seek a short interview with Albert, just before dinner.

“I got a pretty rotten headache, and my stomach’s upset, too,” he said, drooping upon the Paxton’s fence.  “I been gettin’ worse every minute.  You and Sadie go by Milla’s, Albert, and tell her if I’m not there by ha’-pas’-seven, tell her not to wait for me any longer.”

“How do you mean ’wait’?” Albert inquired.  “You don’t expect her to come pokin’ along with Sadie and me, do you?  She’ll keep on sittin’ there at home just the same, because she wouldn’t have anything else to do, if you don’t come like she expects you to.  She hasn’t got any way to stop waitin’!”

At this, Ramsey moaned, without affectation.  “I don’t expect I can, Albert,” he said.  “I’d like to if I could, but the way it looks now, you tell her I wouldn’t be much surprised maybe I was startin’ in with typhoid fever or pretty near anything at all.  You tell her I’m pretty near as disappointed as she’s goin’ to be herself, and I’d come if I could—­and I will come if I get a good deal better, or anything—­but the way it’s gettin’ to look now, I kind o’ feel as if I might be breaking out with something any minute.”  He moved away, concluding, feebly:  “I guess I better crawl on home, Albert, while I’m still able to walk some.  You tell her the way it looks now I’m liable to be right sick.”

And the next morning he woke to the chafings of remorse, picturing a Milla somewhat restored in charm waiting hopefully at the gate, even after half-past seven, and then, as time passed and the sound of the distant horns came faintly through the darkness, going sadly to her room—­perhaps weeping there.  It was a picture to wring him with shame and pity, but was followed by another which electrified him, for out of school he did not lack imagination.  What if Albert had reported his illness too vividly to Milla?  Milla was so fond!  What if, in her alarm, she should come here to the house to inquire of his mother about him?  What if she told Mrs. Milholland they were “engaged”?  The next moment Ramsey was projecting a conversation between his mother and Milla in which the latter stated that she and Ramsey were soon to be married; that she regarded him as already virtually her husband, and demanded to nurse him.

In a panic he fled from the house before breakfast, going out by way of a side door, and he crossed back yards and climbed back fences to reach Albert Paxton the more swiftly.  This creature, a ladies’ man almost professionally, was found exercising with an electric iron and a pair of flannel trousers in a basement laundry, by way of stirring his appetite for the morning meal.