“All right; I'll leave word so's they'll be ready. And say, Mr. Halloran, there's another thing. I was going to talk to Mrs. Higginson to-day about—about Mamie and me, but Mamie doesn't want me to. She says her mother wouldn't listen to a word from me. And we've been talking it over, and we wondered if you'd be willing to say a word for us.” He hurried to add: “I know it's sort of a funny thing to ask, but we're just up a tree. If I could see her father I could manage it, but it's pretty tough to go on like this and feel all the while that she's down on me.” Halloran pursed his lips. “It's Mrs. Higginson that you want me to talk to?”
“Well, no—not since they're going to let you see him. Now don't you do it, Mr. Halloran, if you'd rather not. I know how———”
“If I see a good chance I'll try to put in a word. You won't mind if I go in now and wash up?”
“No. Say, it's mighty square of you———”
“Never mind that. I suppose I'll see you this evening?”
After supper Halloran walked around to the Higginson home and was met at the door by Mamie, blushing and smiling.
“Come in, Mr. Halloran,” she said. “Papa's been impatient to see you. You can go right up. Mamma asked me to excuse her to you. She isn't feeling well.”
Mr. Higginson, looking ten years older for his long sickness, was propped up in an arm chair. He smiled eagerly at the sight of his manager in the doorway, and held out his hand. “Come in, John,” he said. “I'm glad to see you. Sit down. You've been having a little vacation, haven't you?”
