Donald looked at him soberly. “I’ll pay you back when—I—I—earn it.”
His face very serious, the sheriff placed a hand on Donald’s shoulder.
“Now, listen, Don. Your father and I talked here in the office for an hour before he bailed you out, and we agreed that the best thing was to let you go on your own. No, I am not going to give you a lecture, for you are not wholly to blame. Having a rich father is not the best thing for a young fellow, but because you got fired out of college should not make a husky boy like you lose his grip. You just step out and buck the line like you do in football and you’ll sure make a touchdown.” He gripped Donald’s hand. “Good-bye and good luck, Donnie!” he added feelingly.
Donald crossed the street to the Hancock House and sank moodily to a chair in the corner of the lobby. His confinement in the jail and the preceding festivities had robbed him of a night’s rest, and he suddenly realized that he was very tired and sleepy. Forgetting the change in his circumstances, he engaged an expensive room on the first floor and immediately went to bed.
Upon awakening Donald switched on the light and lay for awhile trying to adjust himself to this new situation. Serious meditation, however, brought him no nearer a solution of his problem. A cold bath, followed by a brisk rub down and clean linen, removed all the remaining traces of his night of wild revelry.
The news of John McLean’s break with his son spread rapidly through the small New England city. On his way to the desk to order his baggage to be sent to the dock Donald was beset by several friends who were loud in voicing their sympathy. Extricating himself as quickly as possible, he made his way to the elevator. Quick steps sounded behind him, and, turning, he looked into the smiling face of his boxing instructor, Spike Ryan.
“Hello, Kid, how they comin’?” grinned Spike.
“Come upstairs with me, Spike.”
Once inside the room, Donald turned to his visitor. “If you start any of this sympathy stuff I’ll hand you that famous ‘one-two’ punch you taught me.”
“Sympathy be damned,” chuckled Spike. “Dis is your lucky day. I come here to congratulate you, to give you de glad hand.”