Garrison covered his face with his hands. Only he knew the great, the mighty obsession that was slowly withdrawing itself from his heart. It was all so wonderful; all so incredible. Long contact with misfortune had sapped the natural resiliency of his character. It had been 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 we've tried to do the square, even if we petered out before we'd made good. Trying counts something, kid. Don't forget that.”
“Yes, he had his good points,” whispered Garrison. “I don't forget, Jimmie. I don't forget that he has a cleaner bill of moral health than I have. I was an impostor. That I can't forget; cannot wipe out.”