“Perhaps.”
The young man bowed his way out so quickly that Lucile was still in the shop.
“That,” smiled Frank Morrow, “is R. Stanley Ramsey, Jr., a son of one of our richest men. He wanted ‘The Compleat Angler.’”
He turned to his work as if he had been speaking of a mere trifle.
Lucile was overwhelmed. So he did have a customer who was impatient of waiting and might seek a copy elsewhere? Why, this Frank Morrow was a real sport! She found herself wanting more than ever to tell him everything and to assure him that the book would be on his desk in two hours’ time. She considered.
But again the face of the child framed in a circle of light came before her. Again on the street at night in the clutches of a vile woman, she heard her say, “I won’t steal. I’ll die first.”
Then with a sigh she tiptoed toward the door.
“By the way,” Frank Morrow’s voice startled her, “you live over at the university, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Mind doing me a favor?”