Baggot had received his promotion, Baron reflected. He would go forward now into a more active life. He would probably be seen at the mansion a time or two again, and that would be the end of him, so far as the Barons were concerned.
Another visitor during those days was the beer-driver, who came to inquire about Baron’s condition, and for further manifestations of kindness, as it appeared.
Baron tried to shake his hand, but the task was too herculean.
“I might go out the back way and slip in a can, if the old lady’s against it,” he said, flushing readily and smiling.
“It just happens that I don’t care for it,” said Baron. “I’m quite as much obliged to you.”
He thought it was rather a hopeful sign that he was genuinely pleased to see this man, who had tried to be a good neighbor.
“August is my name,” said the visitor as he prepared to go. “When you’re near the brewery, ask for me. You could go to a dance with me some night. We got a lot of fine fellows. Girls, too.” He said this in the tone of one who would say: “You’re plenty good enough to go with me.”
Then he, too, was gone.