"Is Mr. Frank Marion in here?" he asked of the colored janitor, who was standing in the doorway.
"Yes, sah!" was the emphatic response. "He sut'n'y is, sah! He am always the fust to come, an' the last to depaht."
"Why, good evening, Mr. Herschel," exclaimed a pleasant voice.
David turned quickly to lift his hat. An elderly lady was coming down the steps with two young girls. She came up to him with a smile, and held out her hand.
"I have not seen you since you came back from college," she said, cordially; "but I never lose my interest in any of Rob's playmates."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bond," he replied, with his hat still in his hand.
As she passed on, a swift rush of recollection brought back the big attic where he had passed many a rainy day with Rob Bond. He recalled with something of the old boyish pleasure a certain jar on their pantry shelf, where the most delicious ginger-snaps were always to be found.
But the next moment the smile left his lips, as an exclamation of one of the girls was carried back to him. It was made in an undertone, but the still evening air transmitted it with startling distinctness.
"Why, Auntie, he's a Jew! I didn't think you would shake hands with a Jew!"
He could not hear Mrs. Bond's reply. He drew himself up haughtily. Then the indignant flash died out of his eyes. After all, why should he, with the princely blood of Israel in his veins, care for the callow prejudices of a little school-girl?