If there was a bit of sarcasm in Farr's tone the Quaker paid no apparent heed.
“No,” he said, quietly and meekly, “this is a brace for the leg of a little lame boy. I have found many children in this city who cannot walk. Their parents are too poor to buy braces. So I come here nights, when the good man is away from the forge, and I make braces and carry them with my blessing. I have some knack with the hammer. I hope to find other ways of doing my bit of good.”
“I beg your pardon, Friend Chick,” said Farr, a catch in his voice. “I will not bother you in your work. Good night!”
“Good night to thee!” said the Quaker, swinging at the bellows arm.
Farr went back upon the street, his head bowed. “We all have our own way of doing it,” he pondered, contritely.
He met a man and greeted him with a friendly handclasp. It was Citizen Drew, that elderly man with the earnest face.
And as he had in the past, he turned, caught step with Farr, and they walked together.
Their stroll took them into the broader avenues of up-town.
As they talked, Farr caught side glances from his companion. The glances were a bit inquisitive.
“Well, Citizen Drew,” asked the young man, “what is on your mind this evening?”