“Give me a chance, sir,” said Sam Petch, in a low tone, speaking at last.
And of all the winged words in any language which he could have chosen to shoot straight at Andy’s heart, those were most sure to hit the core of it.
A chance!
Oh, Andy’s young soul had been wrung during those two years in London by the sight of thousands who had never had a chance, or who had missed it, or had wilfully wasted it. The ragged horde of them with haggard eyes and dirty soft hands seemed to press about him in the flowery silence of the cottage doorway.
“All right,” he said, drawing a long breath. “I’ll give you a chance.”
“You shan’t have cause to regret it, sir,” said Sam Petch quietly, with a simple manliness that pleased Andy.
All the same, on leaving the cottage, he felt bound to pause at the door in order to deliver a further warning.
“I must ask you to adhere to the strict truth in all our dealings together,” he remarked austerely.
“He always does,” said Mrs. Petch, before her husband could reply.
“I shall be glad to find it so,” said Andy.