“Indeed it is, since iron has looked up.”
“And that stupid fellow might have had the chance if he hadn’t gone off home again without even calling to say good-by?”
“Just so.”
“Oh, I don’t want to see him,” said Lucia, pettishly. “I’m tired of young men.”
“What a mercy it is that they don’t know it!” said her father. “They’d all go off and commit suicide, and then merchants couldn’t have any clerks at all.”
“Now, papa!” said Lucia, with a crash on the lower octaves of keys, followed by a querulous run, with her thumb, over the shorter strings. “Is the new clerk anybody in particular? What is his name?”
“Philip Hayn.”
Lucia sprang from the piano-stool and almost strangled her father with her slender arms.
“Gracious, Lu!” exclaimed the merchant. “Your mother’s family must have descended from a grizzly bear. But why this excitement?”
“Because you’re a dear, thoughtful old man, who’s always trying to do good,” said Lucia. “If ’tweren’t for you that poor young man might never have a chance in the world. I think it’s real missionary work to help deserving people who aren’t able to help themselves; I know it is; for our minister has said so from the pulpit again and again.”