“Humph! Maybe,” grunted Mr. Smith.
“And he may come back alive from South America”
“He may.”
“But Hattie isn’t counting on either of these contingencies, and she is counting on the money,” sighed Miss Maggie, sobering again. “And Jim,—poor Jim!—I’m afraid he’s going to find it just as hard to keep caught up now—as he used to.”
“Humph!” Mr. Smith frowned. He did not speak again. He stood looking out of the window, apparently in deep thought.
Miss Maggie, with another sigh, turned and went out into the kitchen.
The next day, on the street, Mr. Smith met Mellicent Blaisdell. She was with a tall, manly-looking, square-jawed young fellow whom Mr. Smith had never seen before. Mellicent smiled and blushed adorably. Then, to his surprise, she stopped him with a gesture.
“Mr. Smith, I know it’s on the street, but I—I want Mr. Gray to meet you, and I want you to meet Mr. Gray. Mr. Smith is—is a very good friend of mine, Donald.”
Mr. Smith greeted Donald Gray with a warm handshake and a keen glance into his face. The blush, the hesitation, the shy happiness in Mellicent’s eyes had been unmistakable. Mr. Smith felt suddenly that Donald Gray was a man he very much wanted to know—a good deal about. He chatted affably for a minute. Then he went home and straight to Miss Maggie.
“Who’s Donald Gray, please?” he demanded.