“No!” she laughed. “Please, Mr. Treplin! That was horrid of me.”
“Why was it?” he demanded abruptly. “Especially after you knew—after this morning. But—here’s the situation: I thought you might need a side-kicker to see you through, and I appointed myself to the job. You won’t believe that, I suppose, but that’s because you don’t know how foolish I can be.”
He stopped clumsily, abashed by the wondering scrutiny to which she was subjecting him. She arose slowly from the chair and came toward him.
“I believe you, Mr. Treplin,” she said. “I believe you’re a decent sort of boy. I want to thank you; but why—why should you think this necessary?”
She looked at him, smiling a little, and Toppy, wincing from her “boy,” grew flustered.
“Well, you’re not sorry I came?” he stammered.
For reply she shook her head. Toppy took a long breath.
“Thanks!” he said with such genuine relief that she was forced to smile.
“But I’m a perfect stranger to you,” she said uncertainly. “I can’t understand why you should feel prompted to sacrifice yourself so to help me.”
“Sacrifice!” cried Toppy. “Why, I’m the one——” He stopped. He didn’t know just what he had intended to say. Something that he had no business saying, probably. “Anybody would have done it—anybody who wasn’t a mucker, I mean. You can’t have any use for me, of course, knowing what kind of a dub I’ve been, but if you’ll just look on me as somebody you can trust and fall back on in case of need, and who’ll do anything you want or need, I—I’ll be more than paid.”