“He’d been fishing. You see, he doesn’t have much to do now that he’s out of the surveyor’s office. That’s why he—he gets into trouble so much, I suppose. That and worrying about the death of his wife and baby. I brought him home in the car.”
“Did you ask him about that Joe fellow?”
“Saleratus Joe?”
“Yes. If that’s what you are bound to call him,” Agnes said.
“I did. Mr. Maynard doesn’t know the fellow personally. He didn’t seem to remember much about that day he met Dot. He remembers her, though,” Neale said, thoughtfully. “Asked about her in a shamefaced sort of way.”
“I should think he would be ashamed.”
“He is to be pitied,” said the boy, soberly.
“Oh, yes. I suppose so. All such men are. But for little Dot to get mixed up with a drunken man——”
“It didn’t hurt her,” said Neale, stoutly. “And maybe it has helped him.”
Agnes took a minute to digest this; and she made no further comment. But she asked: