"To him," said Barbara, also smiling, "I, too, have listened to tales out of school, and since he is my oldest friend, and probably my best, he must be straightened out."
"A little absence from New York, perhaps," suggested Blizzard, and watched her face closely.
"Do you think so? It doesn't seem to me necessary to run away in order to straighten out."
"Mr. Allen," said Blizzard, "should swear off stock-gambling, and marry a rich girl."
"He's not that kind," said Barbara simply. And this swift, loyal statement did not please the beggar, since it argued more to his mind of the faith that goes with love than of that appertaining to friendship. He felt a sharp stab of jealousy, and had some ado to keep the pain of it from showing in his face.
"Well," he said, "if anybody can help him, you can. And if you can't, send him to me. Oh, we've had dealings before now. I was even of real service to him once."
"If that is true," Barbara thought, "it's rather rotten of Wilmot to keep running this poor soul down."
Blizzard left with obvious reluctance. Two whole days without a sight of Miss Ferris seemed a very long time to him. "I shall miss these morning loafings."
"Is that what you call posing?"
"What else? You loaf now. Good luck to the tired eye and hand."