“What are you doing now, Sam? In business for yourself?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed until they were almost eclipsed, though a keen steel glitter could be seen beneath the colorless lashes. A kind of mask, impenetrable as lead, seemed to have settled over his face, which had been gradually relaxing during the meal into a half indulgent grin of interest in his queer host.
“Yas, I’m in business fer myself,” he drawled at last after carefully scrutinizing the other’s face to be sure there was no underlying motive for the question.
“News-stand?” asked Michael.
“Not eggs-act-ly!”
“What line?”
Sam finished his mince pie and began on the pumpkin before he answered.
“Wal, ther’s sev’ral!”
“Is that so? Got more than one string to your bow? That’s a good thing. You’re better off than I am. I haven’t looked around for a job yet. I thought I’d get at it tomorrow. You see I wanted to look you fellows up first before I got tied down to anything where I couldn’t get off when I wanted to. Perhaps you can put me onto something. How about it?”
It was characteristic of Michael that he had not once thought of going to Endicott for the position and help offered him, since the setting down he had received from Mrs. Endicott. The time appointed for his going to Endicott’s office was long since passed. He had not even turned the matter over in his mind once since that awful night of agony and renunciation. Mrs. Endicott had told him that her husband “had done enough for him” and he realized that this was true. He would trouble him no more. Sometime perhaps the world would turn around so that he would have opportunity to repay Endicott’s kindness that he might not repay in money, but until then Michael would keep out of his way. It was the one poor little rag of pride he allowed himself from the shattering of all his hopes.