“Then tell me right out what he threatened,” begged Madge.
“He threatened to get me discharged.”
That made Madge look very sober, and for a moment there was silence. Then she said,—
“I never thought of what you were risking to help us, Mr. Gordon. And I’m afraid it’s too late to—”
“Don’t worry about me,” I hastened to interject. “I’m a long way from being discharged, and, even if I should be, Miss Cullen, I know my business, and it won’t be long before I have another place.”
“But it’s terrible to think of the injury we may have caused you,” sighed Madge, sadly. “It makes me hate the thought of money.”
“That’s a very poor thing to hate,” I said, “except the lack of it.”
“Are you so anxious to get rich?” asked Madge, looking up at me quickly, as we walked,—for we had been pacing up and down the platform during our chat.
“I haven’t been till lately.”
“And what made you change?” she questioned.