“Oh, Alex,” he said cordially; “I’m glad to see you. Come in.”
“May I have a little while to talk to you?” asked Alex, with simple directness.
“Yes, indeed; I am always glad to have a call from you.” And the doctor led the way into his study, where they could be free from interruption.
“Sit down,” he said; “and tell me about it.”
“It?” said Alex inquiringly.
“Yes, it,” returned the doctor, smiling. “You look as if something were wrong.”
“So there is,” replied Alex, anxiously knitting his brows; “and the worst of it is, I don’t know whether I have any business to be here, it seems so like telling tales.”
Dr. Flemming bent forward and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Don’t you know, Alex, that I always want to hear all that concerns my boys, whether for good or ill? I can rely on your sense of honor, I am sure, for you have proved yourself far above the meanness of ordinary tale-bearing. If you wish, I promise you that whatever you say shall remain a secret between the two of us.”
“Thank you.” And Alex met the doctor’s steady gaze without flinching. “Of course you know how gossip flies, in a place like this, and won’t be a bit surprised when I tell you it’s common talk that you had an interview with Osborn this morning.”