A PROPOSITION TO MAKE.
Two weeks passed, and during the time Howard busied himself with the writing of letters to numerous real-estate men and postmasters in the West. Sometimes he would put down his pen to muse over what Florence had said, that she might tell him something after the lapse of four weeks, and more than once had he spoken to her with regard to what seemed to him as her vague information, but she had told him to wait. He knew her well enough not to persist. One of his earliest memories was a certain sort of stubbornness which formed a part of her character. She was gentle and lovable, but strong. He fancied that had she been reared in a different sphere of life she would have become a leader in the Salvation Army.
Bodney came to the office every day, but was so restless that he rarely remained long. Once he came to the door, saw the preacher within, and stole away without speaking. And one afternoon Howard heard him and Goyle tossing high words in the hall, but a few moments later they went out, arm in arm. One morning the Judge came in. "I didn't know but you had left this place," he said, standing near the door and looking about to search for the old memories, Howard mused.
"No, sir. The fact is I may not move to any other office in this town."
"In this town!" the old man repeated. "What other town is there?" To a Chicago man that ought to have established his complete soundness of mind. "I can give you credit for all sorts of—let me say, weakness—but I cannot see why you should be so foolish as to leave this city."
"You came at an early day," said Howard. "I might better my prospects by going to a town that is still in its early day."
"Um, and come back broke. You haven't stuffed that old suit of clothes yet."
"There's time enough for that, sir?"
"What! Then you really intend to do it?"
"Didn't you command me?"