“I’m thinkin’ he’ll disuppeer one o’ these days. Ye’ll wake up an’ he’ll be gahn. He’s not of this worrld. He’ll sprid his wings an’ away. He’s a man-angel, thet’s wot he is!”
Michael went home that night and wrote a letter to Mr. Endicott that would have broken a heart of stone, telling his inmost thought; showing his love and anguish in every sentence; and setting forth simply and unassumingly the wonderful work he was doing in the alley.
But though he waited in anxiety day after day he received not a word of reply. Endicott read the letter every word, and fairly gloated over the boy’s strength, but he was too stubborn to let it be known. Also he rather enjoyed the test to which he was putting him.
Michael even watched the outgoing vessels on Saturday, looked up the passenger lists, went down to the wharf and tried to see him before he sailed, but for some reason was unable to get in touch with him.
Standing sadly on the wharf as the vessel sailed he caught sight of Endicott, but though he was sure he had been seen he received no sign of recognition, and he turned away sick at heart, and feeling as if he had for conscience’s sake stabbed one that loved him.
Chapter XVIII
Those were trying days for Michael.
The weather had turned suddenly very warm. The office was sometimes stifling. The daily routine got upon his nerves, he who had never before known that he had nerves. There was always the aching thought that Starr was gone from him—forever—and now he had by his own word cut loose from her father—forever! His literal heart saw no hope in the future.
About that time, too, another sorrow fell upon him. He was glancing over the paper one morning on his way to the office, and his eye fell on the following item:
LONE TRAIN BANDIT HURT IN FIGHT AFTER GETTING LOOT