“Why?” He looked at her with considerable surprise.
“Because—well, because you are a bit unstrung, and are tired, and you and he might have words, and you might not use your cool judgment if he should be short with you. You know you are a little at odds with all the world just now!” She spoke nervously and smiled wistfully. “I would be sorry to have you quarrel with Mr. Rowley because—well, father is a partner, and has already had words with him. Please wait till morning. You must not lose the schooner!”
“I'm too far down and out to dare to quarrel with Rowley, but I'll do as you say, Polly. Good night.”
“You're a good boy to obey a girl's whim. Good night.”
The moment his foot was off the last step of the porch she hurried to her room in the cottage and secured a little packet from her portfolio.
She heard the thud of his dory oars as she walked down the street. She was glad to know that he was safely out of the way.
Rowley's dingy windows shed a dim blur upon the frosty night. It was near time for him to close his store, and when she entered he was turning out the loafers who had been cuddling close to his barrel stove.
After a few moments of waiting the girl was alone with him.
“No, I don't want to buy anything, Mr. Rowley. I need your help. I ask you to help me to do a good deed.”
He pulled his spectacles to the end of his nose and stared at her doubtfully and with curiosity.