There were merry good-byes, yet after the footsteps on the stairs were lost in other sounds, Doodles wondered if Blue had really disliked to go.
“I’d love it,” he whispered softly—“if I only could!” He closed his eyes, but the tears pressed through. “O God,” he murmured, “do let me walk sometime—do!—do! But if I can’t—ever,” he added tremulously, “oh, help me to bear it so nobody will guess how much I care!”
Caruso found it hard to keep on his perch, Blue strode along at so swift a pace. Finally the boy discovered how it was with the little singer, and he slackened his steps.
A dozen times during that long walk he told himself he was a fool for going. Once he actually started back; but the remembrance of his brother’s face, beautiful, eager, appealing, rose before him and seemed to block his way. Resolutely he turned again and went forward. If they would not let him in, why, he should then be able to meet Doodles with clear eyes,—he would have done all that he could.
He kept on with more heart. Why should he be afraid? Probably “that Fleming girl” had never in all her life heard so good a singer as Caruso, and maybe, just maybe, the songs would do her good, as Doodles hoped.
Near the house he hesitated. Should he go to the front door, or to the side, or should he go round to the back? He boldly decided on the front. A maid answered his ring.
“I should like to see Miss Fleming,” he said politely.
“She can see no one to-day.”
The door was beginning to close.
“Oh, well, then Miss Daphne!” cried Blue in desperate haste.