"Well, it would be a great relief to me if you could. I hate the cars."
"Very well, sir; I can go of course. What time shall I start?"
"What time can you start?"
Theodore glanced at his watch.
"The Express goes up in forty minutes. Shall I take that train?"
Mr. Stephens smiled, and made what sounded like an irrelevant reply:
"Your executive ability is perfectly refreshing, Theodore, to a man of my gray hairs and crushing weight of business."
Theodore seemed to consider the reply sufficiently explicit, and in forty minutes afterward, valise in hand, swung himself on the Express train just as it was leaving the depot. Mr. Stephens' last remark to him had been, "Remember, my boy, to think of that matter carefully, and be prepared to give me a favorable answer; my heart is set on it." And Theodore had laughed and responded, "If I have an inspiration during my absence I may conclude to gratify you."
This all happened on an October day. The rest of the winter that was in progress during that last chapter, and the long, bright summer, had rolled away, and now another winter was almost ready to begin its work. The summer had been a quiet one aside from business cares and excitements. Pliny still retained his boarding place in the quiet asylum that had opened to him when his own home had proved so dangerous a place. Dora Hastings had spent the most of the summer with her parents, traveling East and North, but Pliny had remained bravely at his post struggling still with his enemy, but still persisting in carrying on the warfare alone. This one matter was a sharp trial to Theodore's faith; indeed he felt himself growing almost impatient.