As he stepped away from the train, his mother and sister ran forward. Two men watched him from close by—one motioned to the other. O’Reilly went forward.
“My boy, are you looking for Mr. Strong?”
Helen interrupted: “Looking for Mr. Who? Why, of course he’s not—he’s my brother—I guess you are mistaken. Come, Ted, we are going home first.”
Ted did not question his sister; he knew there was method in her outburst. He added:
“Sorry, sir.”
“I’m so glad you came, Ted. How I hoped you would!” his mother said.
O’Reilly turned doubtfully, as the other man beckoned him away.
“Time lost,” said Schmidt. “Let them go. No harm done. I pumped the boy on the way; he had no secret, apparently. He is but a child.”
“I was scared by that girl,” replied O’Reilly musingly. “My, she’s a Tartar. All right, then, I’m tired and I’m going home. Good-night.”
“Good-night, my friend—see you tomorrow.” Schmidt watched him go.