“Yes. Stefan helped him, you know, and I'm sure he was awfully grateful. When the Berber shop changed hands in January, I wondered what would become of him; I believe Miss Berber was only using him out of kindness. It seems to me he might be just the person, if we could find him.”
“You're a smart girl, Mary, and as plucky as they make 'em,” nodded the spinster.
“Oh, Sparrow, when I think of his helplessness! He, who always wanted wings!” Mary half choked.
“Now,” said Miss Mason, rising briskly, “we've got to act, not think. Come along, child, and let's go over to the barn.” Gratefully Mary followed her.
Enquiries at the now cheapened and popularized Berber studio elicited Jensen's old address, and Mary drove there in a taxi, only to find that he had moved to an even poorer quarter of the city. She discovered his lodgings at last, in a slum on the lower east side. He was out, looking for a job, the landlady thought, but Mary left a note for him, with a bill inside it, asking him to come out to Crab's Bay the next morning. She hurried back to Rosamond, and found that the excellent Sparrow had already held lively conferences with the village builders and plumbers.
“I told 'em they'd get a bonus for finishing the job in three weeks, and I guess I got the whole outfit on the jump,” said she with satisfaction. “Though the dear Lord knows,” she added, “if the plumbers get through on schedule it'll be the first time in history.”
When Henrik Jensen arrived next day Mary took an instant liking to him. He was shabbier and more hopeless than ever, but his eyes were kind, his mouth gentle, and when she spoke of Stefan his face lighted up.
She told him the story of the two friends, of his brother's wound and Stefan's crippling, and saw that his eyes filled with tears.
“He was wonderful to me, Mrs. Byrd, he gave me a chance. I was making good, too, till Miss Berber left and the whole scheme fell to pieces. I'm glad Adolph is with him; it was very gracious of you to let me hear about it.”
“Are you very busy now, Mr. Jensen?”