Whatever the English boy’s feelings were, he bravely surmounted them and, quietly bowing his head, he said, respectfully, “very well; I will do as you wish.”
“You look pale,” said the Judge, kindly. “I do not think the air of New York is good for growing lads, so if you wish I will allow you to stay here a few days before going back to Mr. Folsom.”
The boy’s face flushed gratefully. “I am greatly pleased to accept your offer, sir; I will stay gladly.”
“I will advise Mr. Folsom of my decision,” said the Judge, “so that he can be making other arrangements for you. In the meantime, amuse yourself as best you can. My grandson will, I know, do all he can to entertain you,” and the Judge paused and glanced delicately at the lad’s thin suit of clothes.
“I will take you to my tailor’s this afternoon.”
Dallas’s face became as red as fire. “I would rather not, sir; if I am not to stay here I can accept no favors.”
“Nonsense, my boy,” replied the Judge. “By staying a few days you are accepting a favor, and you are not suitably dressed for this cold weather. If I were a poor boy, and you a well-to-do man, would you not give me a suit of clothes?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, earnestly.
“Then think no more about it. It is no disgrace to be poor. It is a disgrace to suffer when friends are willing to relieve you.”
The Judge paused, and the interview was closed.