“What do ye think of this, Ma’am?” said David Joslin, turning toward the quiet young woman. “I reckon ye mought be ashamed of me if I went along with ye.” He flushed dully.
“No, Mr. Joslin,” said she, quickly. “You’ll learn. You wouldn’t be unhappy, I think. I want you to feel that we want to help you. Let my husband take care of the business part. I’ll see what I can do toward getting you a chance to study. If money is good for anything, Jim, it ought to be good for just some such thing as this.”
“Is it a trade, man?” said the Northerner suddenly.
“I believe I’ll go with ye, Ma’am,” said David Joslin quietly for his reply. He did not speak to the man.
It was a trade! When Jimmy Haddon stepped back once more into the house, to the side of the table where the flickering oil lamp stood, he caught the Widow Dunham gaily about the shoulders, chucked her under the chin once more, and kissed her fair on the lips. It chanced he did this just as his wife came into the hall, so that she saw the whole transaction. She made no comment. She also had made her trade, years ago, when she married. If she had lost, she would not yet complain. But Joslin saw the hot flush on her cheek.
CHAPTER IX
POLLY PENDLETON
“WELL, Marcia, here we are,” said James Haddon, as at last their long railway journey drew to its close in the swift sweep of the train up the gates of the great city by the sea. “Better begin to round up your wild man—I saw him standing in the vestibule looking out of the window as though he was in a trance. What are we going to do with him, now we’ve got him?”