“Metty,” as he was commonly called, disdained to see the mirth he caused but climbed to his seat behind, folded his arms as well as he could for his too big livery, and became as rigid as a statue—or as all well-conducted footmen should be.
Then good-byes were exchanged, after the good old Maryland fashion and the carriage rolled away.
As it vanished from view the man left behind sighed again and clenched his fists, muttering:
“This horrible, uneven world! Why should one child have so much and my Elsa—nothing! Elsa, my poor, unhappy child!”
Then he went about his duties and tried to forget Dorothy’s beauty, perfect health, and apparent wealth.
For some time neither Mrs. Calvert nor Dorothy spoke; then the girl said:
“Aunt Betty, Jim Barlow could tend that engine. And he’s out of a place. Maybe——”
“Yes, dear, I’ve been thinking of him, too. Somehow none of our plans seem quite perfect without good, faithful James sharing them.”
“And that poor Mr. Blank——”
“A very dishonest scoundrel, my child, according to all accounts. Don’t waste pity on him.”