There was no sort of use in talking to Tode. Mr. Hastings seemed desirous of cutting the interview short.
"Very well," he said, "I don't see but you have taken matters entirely into your own hands. What do you want of me?"
"Nothing, sir, only I—" And here Tode almost broke down; a mist came suddenly before his eyes, and his voice seemed to slip away from him. The poor boy felt himself swinging adrift from the only one to whom he had ever seemed to belong. A very soft, tender feeling had sprung up in his heart for this rich man. It had been pleasant to meet him on the street and think, "I belong to him." The feeling was new to the friendless, worse than orphan boy, and he had taken great pride and pleasure in it; so now he choked, and his face grew red as at last he stammered:
"I—I like you, and—" Then another pause.
Mr. Hastings bowed.
"That is very kind, certainly. What then?"
"Would you let me bring up the mail for you evenings just the same? I wouldn't want no pay, and I'd like to keep doing it for you."
Mr. Hastings shook his head.
"Oh no, I wouldn't trouble a man of your position for the world. Jim, or some other boy, will answer my purpose very well. Since you choose to cut yourself aloof from me when I was willing to befriend you, why you must abide by your intentions, and not hang around after me in any way."
Tode's eyes flashed.