During the afternoon Richard had occasion again to visit the packing-room, and once more Norris, who was the only one present, approached him.
"How would you like to go to Niblo's Garden with me to-night?" he asked. "I have two tickets, and I would be pleased to have your company."
"I am much obliged, I'm sure, but I have an errand to-night," replied
Richard. "I must deliver two letters."
"Well, that ought not to take you all the evening. Come along; I don't want to have the extra ticket and not use it. A friend of mine from Brooklyn was going with me, but he has just dropped me a postal card saying he is sick."
"Can't you sell the extra ticket?"
"Oh, I suppose I might; but I don't care to go alone," explained Norris.
"Come, you'll enjoy it, I know."
Richard was sorely tempted. The play at the theater was a standard one, and the leading actor one of renown. Surely there wouldn't be much harm in going.
If any other person than Norris had asked him, he would probably have accepted.
Yet his reasoning on the point was remarkably clear. He was sure that there had been nothing in his own manner to draw him to Norris, and this being so, why did the latter take such an interest in one who was but a step removed from a stranger to him?
"No, I guess not," he replied, after a pause. "I don't care to go."