“Yes—I believe so, but how funny that you know, Grandpa!” Millicent sniffed and mopped.
“What I don’t know about what goes on in Farrandale has never been known by anybody. I’m an easy mark for every one who has anything to tell. Always doddering around the house or the estate,” waving his hand about the fifty feet of yard, “if people can’t find anybody else to unburden themselves to, there is always old Silas Duane.”
“You’re so charming, Grandpa,” exclaimed the girl, clasping his arm tighter than before and trying to check her tears, “that’s why they come; and if you told me everything you hear, I shouldn’t be such a greenie and lose my job.”
“You won’t lose your job. You succeeded, and that’s what Miss Frink wants. No failures need apply.”
“But, Grandpa”—Millicent swallowed a sob—“did you know that the man, the hero, was still at Miss Frink’s?”
“Surely I did. Leonard Grimshaw was here day before yesterday. He has troubles of his own.” Colonel Duane laughed.
“Does Mr. Grimshaw confide in you?” Millicent asked it with some awe. “Now I know that you don’t tell me anything.”
“Yes, so long as I always have the rent ready, Grimshaw is quite talkative. This Mr. Stanwood is somewhat of a thorn in his flesh evidently. He says it is because a sick person in the house upsets everything, and it is a nervous strain on Miss Frink; but I imagine her personal interest in the young man is a little disturbing.”
“Is he a young man?”
“Yes; according to Grimshaw a young nobody from nowhere, who was on his way to look for a job at Ross Graham’s.”