Yet the old man's eyes twinkled wistfully as they followed his son to the door. Hank had told him nothing of his troubles, yet his father saw that he had lost flesh, that he had not a prosperous air, and he acutely guessed that all was not going well with him. He would find out from the young girl, and with a sigh he settled back in his chair.
"I'll try to come home soon again, father," said Hank, dispiritedly, as he looked over his shoulder before closing the bedroom door, and he was just shrugging his shoulders at the promise, when something dark and panting caught at him in the unlighted kitchen, and made him jump.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
A FRIEND IN NEED.
It was 'Tilda Jane, breathing like a race-horse.
"What's up with you, sissy?" he asked.
She could not speak for a few seconds, then she gasped with difficulty, "Hank, dear old Hank, he's in there—the loveliest man—he's always ready to do a turn for any one—go in—tell him your business. I've said a little, mind what he tells you, an' you'll get on. He's helped lots of people. He was in the midst of a dinner party. He's so good—he jus' left it an' come. Go—" and she gave him a gentle push and sent him into the parlour, where he blinked his eyes alternately at the lamp on the table, and at a small, dark, quiet man who sat with his hat on his knee.
The small man was breathing hard, as if he, too, had been walking fast, but on seeing Hank, he rose and stood with outstretched hand.