“Just about,” agreed Jim. “But I know Tom Mickey, the head lineman, pretty well, and I believe that I can get him to let us string our wire on the company’s poles. You see there’s three or four empty places on the cross-bars.”
“Oh, if we can do that,” said Allan, “it will be easy enough. Do you suppose he will let us?”
“I’m sure he will,” asserted Jim, with a good deal more positiveness than he really felt. “I’ll see Mickey in the morning—I’ll start early so I’ll have time before the whistle blows.”
“It seems to me that you’re doing it all, and that I’m not doing anything,” said Allan. “You must let me furnish the wire, anyway.”
“We’ll see about it,” said Jim. “Won’t you come in and see my mother?” he added, a little shyly.
“It’s pretty late,” said Allan. “Do you think I’d better?”
“Yes,” Jim replied. “She—she asked me to bring you, the first chance I had.”
“What for?” asked Allan, looking at him in surprise.
“No matter,” said Jim. “Come on,” and he opened the door and led him into the house.
They crossed a hall, and beside a table in the room beyond, Allan saw a woman seated. She was bending over some sewing in her lap, but she looked up at the sound of their entrance, and as the beams of the lamp fell upon her face, Allan saw how it lighted with love and happiness. And his heart gave a sudden throb of misery, for it was with that selfsame light in her eyes that his mother had welcomed him in the old days.