"Promise me you won't whip the baby any more...." Her voice shook, in spite of herself. "I'll go with you."
He shook his head. "I'll study it out.... I'd better go alone."
At the far end of the waiting-room,—it lacked half an hour to train-time,—he saw at once the slight figure. Pelham had invested in a bag of bananas, and was disconsolately eating the second. As he saw his father's figure approaching, he wilted weakly back in the seat.
"Going away, Pelham?"
"Yes, sir."
He was surprised at the lack of interest in his father's voice.
The older man sat down beside him, and spoke carefully. "As soon as you want to leave home, Pelham, you may. If you're going to Jackson, or anywhere else, father'll be glad to write on and see that you get a job of some kind. But you are pretty small to be starting out now."
The boy choked a wordless assent.
"I think you'd better come home to-night, and think over the matter. If you want to go to-morrow, I'll be glad to help."
Pelham rose obediently, clutching the draggled bundle, and slipped a confiding hand into his father's. Nothing was said about the whippings; they ceased.