* * * * *
Some days after the funeral the Manager sent for John to come to his private office. He was a pleasant man and had taken a kindly interest in the capable young workman from the start.
"Well, Randolph, this is a terrible business of poor Trueman," he said, as he pointed him to a chair. "Terrible! I can't get over it. A fine man and one of our best finishers too. Well, we can't do anything for him now, poor fellow, but he left a boy I think?"
"Yes, sir," said John simply; "I have taken him to live with me."
"Shake hands, Randolph! We talk about what ought to be done and you do it. Is that your usual mode of procedure?"
John laughed. "There was nothing else to do," he said.
"H'm. Most fellows in your position would have thought it was the last thing possible. Have you any idea what it means to saddle yourself with a child like this? Whatever put such an idea into your head?"
"Jesus Christ," answered John quietly.
"Well, well, you're a queer fellow, Randolph. But how are you going to make the wages spin out? A boy is 'a growing giant of wants whom the coat of Have is never large enough to cover.'"
"His father managed, so can I." John's voice shook a little.