"Is he coming down soon?" asked the editor, going to his original object.
"Oh, yes. He will be down in a week or two, I am sure."
"Are you—er—do you expect to go to Chicago to live?" he asked, rather nervously for him.
"Yes—quite soon, I think. Mr. Sherrod is making arrangements to have me come up very shortly. He says he is getting a home ready for us on the North Side. Do you know much about the North Side?"
"Er—I—well, not much," murmured Roscoe Boswell, who had been in Chicago but once in his life—he had spent two days at the World's Fair. "I'm pretty much acquainted on the South Side and the East Side, though. Great old city, ain't she?"
"I have not been there since I was a small baby, but Jud says it is wonderful."
"It'll be mighty nice for you both when Jud takes you up," said he, not knowing how to proceed. He could not bring himself to ask her if she had heard of that strange similarity in names in connection with the Chicago wedding.
"It will, indeed, and I'll be so happy. Jud wants me so much, and he'll be earning enough, soon to keep us both very nicely," she said, simply. Roscoe Boswell not only believed in the integrity of Jud Sherrod as she went away smiling, but he swore to himself that the stories about her and 'Gene Crawley were "infernal lies."
He saw her from time to time in the course of the evening, and she seemed so blithe and happy that he knew there was no shadow in her young heart.
"I'm glad of it," he mused, forgetting to respond to Mrs. Harbaugh's question. "It would have been a thundering good story for the Tomahawk if it had been our Jud, old as the story is by this time, but I'm darned glad there's nothing in it." Then aloud, with a jerk: "What's that, Mrs. Harbaugh?"