"Where's Nort? I'd like to know what's become of the boy. I never thought he'd leave Hempfield without at least saying good-bye. It isn't like him."
In writing to Nort that night, I told him of my visit to the old Captain and what the Captain said, and on the second morning, when I walked into the office of the Star, what was my astonishment to see Nort down on his knees tinkering the gasoline engine.
Fergus was sitting stiffly on his stool, with his old green shade over his eyes. I learned afterward the exact circumstances of the meeting between the two men. Nort had walked in quite as usual, and hung his coat on the customary hook.
"Hello, Fergus!" he said, also quite as usual.
Fergus looked around at him, and said nothing at all. Nort walked over to the stone, took up a stickful of type, and began to distribute it in the cases. Presently he looked around at Fergus with a broad smile on his face.
"Fergus, where's the fatted calf?"
"Humph!" remarked Fergus.
When Nort got down for another take of the type, Fergus observed to the general atmosphere:
"The old engine's out of order."
Nort stepped impulsively toward Fergus's case, and said with wistful affection in his voice: