“What part of America are you from?”
“A little town called Bingham.”
The man gave a sudden start, and moved his lips as if about to speak. But no words came, and closing his jaws firmly together, as if to repress the impulse, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at Will with a look that was more pathetic than curious.
The boy scarcely noticed the interruption. He rambled on, explaining that he was sent abroad on business by a Mr. Williams, and was only staying in London to see the wife of his employer aboard the steamer on her way home. It was cruel, he protested, for her to ask him to dine with her in a fashionable hotel, knowing as she did his station in life, and still more cruel to ask him to appear in a dress suit.
Of all this, and much more, he talked as he ate his luncheon, and the gentleman listened in grave silence, but most attentively.
After the meal was finished he asked:
“Have you money?”
“Then I believe I shall be able to relieve your embarrassment, if you will walk with me a few doors down the street.”
“I shall be very grateful, sir.”