“Yes,” she said, slowly, “I can do that, I suppose.”
He drew a note-book from his breast-pocket and, having written a few words on a leaf of it, tore it out and handed it to her.
“Take that to Miss Starkweather’s house and say I sent you with it.”
When she was gone, he turned to Latimer again.
“Before I go,” he said, “I want to say a few words to you—to ask you to make me a promise.”
“What is the promise?” said Latimer.
“It is that we shall be friends—friends.”
Baird laid his hand on the man’s gaunt shoulder with a nervous grasp as he spoke, and his voice was unsteady.
“I have never had a friend,” answered Latimer, monotonously; “I should scarcely know what to do with one.”
“Then it is time you had one,” Baird replied. “And I may have something to offer you. There may be something in—in my feeling which may be worth your having.”