“Miss Daphne is out.”
The great door came together promptly, with a soft little thud.
So it was over—all need of worrying about what he should say to the rich girl who looked like a princess!—all Doodles’s bright anticipations! At the moment Blue felt equal to an interview with anybody—anybody but the small boy waiting happily in the wheel chair—for this! How could he bear to see the light fade out of the fair little face!
“Huh,” he muttered, “she’d ’a’ let me in fast enough if I’d been dressed up stylish! I know ’em! They’re all alike!”
With a heavy sigh he went slowly down the stone steps.
A soft south breeze ruffled the bird’s feathers, and he let go a gay trill.
“Shut up!” snapped the boy. “Don’t give ’em a note! They ain’t worth it!”
He took the road towards home with long strides.
Up the hill rolled an open motor car. A woman and a little girl were on the back seat. As they whirled by, Blue recognized Daphne Fleming; but he made no sign.
“Oh, there is Blue Stickney!” exclaimed the child in sudden excitement. “And he has the sweet bird!” She rose to look back. “Simon, Simon! stop! quick!”