“Is there?” asked the boy quickly. “Man! That is fine! But I always knew he could not do anything really bad—I mean, anything that the police could touch him for. But it is not that, Dad. I have heard Jack say he used to be different when he came down first, and now sometimes he—” The lad's voice fell silent. He could not bring himself to accuse his hero of any evil. His father drew him close to his side.
“You mean that he has fallen into bad ways—drink, and things like that?”
The boy hung his head; he was keenly ashamed for his friend. After a few moments' silence he said:
“And he is going away to Canada to-morrow, and I wonder, Dad, if he has—got—back? It would be terrible—Oh, Dad, all alone and away from—!”
The boy's voice sank to a whisper, and a rush of tears filled his eyes.
“I see what you mean, my boy. You mean it would be terrible for him to be in that far land, and away from that Friend we know and love best.”
The lad looked at his father through his tears, and nodded his head, and for some moments there was silence between them. If the truth must be told, Doctor Dunn felt himself keenly rebuked by his little son's words. Amid the multitude of his responsibilities, the responsibility for his sons' best friend he had hardly realised.
“I am glad that you spoke of it, Rob; I am glad that you spoke of it. Something will be done. It is not, after all, in our hands. Still, we must stand ready to help. Good-night, my boy. And remember, it is always good to hurry back to our best Friend, if ever we get away from Him.”
The boy put his arms around his father's neck and kissed him good-night; then, kissing him again, he whispered: “Thank you, Daddy.”
And from the relief in his tone the father recognised that upon him the lad had laid all the burden of his solicitude for his friend.