With a happy laugh he brought the machine to an abrupt stop.
“Dear little girl! Dear little Nan!” he murmured, his arms clasping her. “You belong to me now; nobody’s ever going to take you away from me. I love you; you’re dearer to me than all the world; and I’m so happy and proud!”
They talked for a time in subdued tones of the future. Yes; she had made the great decision. It seemed, now that she had given her word, that it had been inevitable from the beginning. There would be no more uncertainty, no more unhappiness. His arms were a happy refuge. No one had ever been as kind to her as he had been. She no longer questioned his good faith, or doubted his love.
“Oh, Billy, we must hurry! I’m in for a bad time, if I’m caught.”
When she reached the house the nurse let her in. Farley had wakened once and asked for her, Miss Rankin said, but he had been satisfied with an explanation that Nan had gone early to bed.
CHAPTER XIV
BILLS PAYABLE
At six o’clock every morning Mr. Jeremiah Amidon’s alarm-clock sent him trotting down the hall of his boarding-house to the bathroom for an immersion in cold water. When he had carefully dressed himself, he pulled weights for ten minutes, and thus refreshed and strengthened was able to wring a smile from the saddest boarder at the breakfast table.
He now opened the office mail. No one knew who had conferred this responsibility upon him; all that any one knew about the matter was that Jerry got down first and had the job done usually by eight o’clock. He did it well; there was no denying that. It was the only way, he told Copeland, that you could keep track of the business. He assumed also the task of replying to complaints of protesting customers, and carried the replies to Copeland to sign. The errors, omissions, and delays complained of became, under Jerry’s hand, a matter of chagrin and personal grief to the head of the house. These literary performances were in a key of cheerful raillery, made possible by his knowledge of the domestic affairs or social habits of the kicking customer. Where there was real ground for complaint and the patron was a valued one, Jerry telegraphed an apology. Copeland demurred at this.
“What if that fellow does get a damaged shipment occasionally?” said Copeland, frowning over one of these messages; “he’s one of the slowest customers on our list. It wouldn’t be any great calamity if we lost him.”
“He’s slow all right,” Jerry admitted, “but he’s dead sure; and he has an old uncle who owns about a section of the fattest bottom land on the Wabash. When the old gent dies, Sam’s going to put up a building for himself and build a drug store that will be more beautiful than Solomon in full evening dress.”