"That wasn't love, but a boyish fancy. I'm glad to hear, though. I wonder what this young John Gaynor is like?"
"Suppose you do send for him. If we shouldn't like him—but you may find something for him to do. And if he isn't worth anything you can pack him off home again."
"You can plan clear to the end, Ruth," and he laughed. "Well, we'll see."
Dan had gone to Galena, as he had some lead interests. Mr. Bayne, from the Farmer, dropped in that evening. After some newspaper talk he said:
"I don't suppose you know any nice, likely boy, Gaynor, that we could get in the office to learn the trade. Ours is as slow as molasses in January, and never can learn to set type. That Chris Hayne would be fine, but he has his heart set upon being a parson."
"Well, that's queer!" Father looked at me and made a funny face. "I have a namesake in Massachusetts who wants to come West."
"Yankee boys are generally bright and good spellers. You want one in a newspaper office. If he's worth his salt we'll take him, and let him earn bread and butter besides."
"John Gaynor. That's a good solid name," and father's eyes twinkled mirthfully.
"If he takes after you he's just the fellow to come to Chicago," was the reply.
Father nodded. "I guess I'll send."