“I am not wholly without pride, Mr. Ingalls; but I can’t afford to indulge it. I shall get out of this street business as soon as I can.”
“You are justified in that, certainly. It shows a proper ambition.”
The next day Gilbert sought his chosen place, and again proceeded to sell his stock of daily papers, with about the same measure of success.
At about half-past ten he caught sight of a familiar face. His own face blushed uncomfortably, for Randolph Briggs was about the last person he wished to see, under the circumstances.
Randolph, who was rather near-sighted, did not recognize him till he was close upon him. Gilbert had a momentary impulse to desert his post, and thus escape the notice of his unwelcome acquaintance; but this impulse was succeeded by the more manly resolve to stand his ground.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said to himself. “It is Randolph, or rather his mother, who should be ashamed.”
He was in the act of selling a “Herald” when Randolph came up.
“Gilbert Greyson!” exclaimed Randolph, in amazement.
“Good-morning, Randolph,” said Gilbert, quietly.
“What are you doing?”