"A little place called Tamawaca, there to spend my two weeks' vacation. Just think of it! After fourteen months I've saved enough for an outing. It isn't a princely sum, to be sure—nothing like what I spent in a day at college—but by economy I can make it do me in that out-of-the-way place, where the hotel board is unusually cheap."
"I'm told it is as bad as it is cheap," said Jarrod.
"That stands to reason, sir. I'm not expecting much but rest and sunshine and fresh air—and perhaps a nice girl to dance with in the evening.
"I see."
"And, by the way, Mr. Jarrod," this with some hesitation, "please don't tell anyone who I am, if you're asked. I call myself James Ingram—Ingram was my mother's name, you know—and I'd rather people wouldn't know who my father is, or why I'm living in this modest way. They would either blame me or pity me, and I won't endure either from strangers, for it's none of their business."
"I'll remember, Jim. Will you let me present you to Mrs. Jarrod?"
"Not tonight, please. This meeting has a little upset me. Wait till I get settled a bit. You're going to Tamawaca."
"Yes. We shall spend the summer there, if we like it."
"Then, sir, I'll be sure to see you again. Good night, Mr. Jarrod."
The young man walked on, and the lawyer looked after him approvingly.