"Surely, Tom."
The hulking mason entered awkwardly, and refused a chair. His large frame bulked abnormally in a ready-made suit of stiff black cloth. He seemed to take up half the room, as he stood and glowered, a full-length figure of surly embarrassment and dark resolve.
"There was a funeral to-day," he began at last.
"I know."
"That was my poor mother, Mr. Carlton."
"Yes, I heard. Tom, I'm so sorry for you!"
Their hands flew together, and were one till Carlton winced.
"There's nothun to be sorry for," said Tom, with husky philosophy. "Her troubles are over, poor thing. So's one o' mine! You can start me to-morrow."
"Start you, Tom?"
"Yes, sir, I mean to work for you now. I'd like to see the man who'll stop me! You've shown 'em all the man you are; now that's my turn."