“Just a little, won’t you? Make me feel less a beggar?” he coaxed.
“First you pay what—what you say you must—” She hesitated.
“There’s more than enough—to do—what I must before I can go to school, or even work for you.”
Mrs. Schmitz showed no curiosity concerning this thing that was shadowing him, but instead gave him trust and encouragement which he felt in all she said or did. When he was able to set at his task he knew he would never have had the courage but for her.
This took courage for it was nothing less than an attempt to pay for stolen food. It was a rather quixotic scheme perhaps; but the thought was born of his serious talk with Mrs. Schmitz. He believed he could never wipe out the stain of the name of thief, till he had made restitution.
He knew well the places where ice boxes on open porches had tempted him; there were three. He planned to go boldly to the front door and ask for the gentleman of the house. Already he had learned the names of the householders; learned the dinner hour at each place. He would go immediately after that, before anyone would be leaving or arriving.
He had two reasons for selecting this hour, the man would be at leisure, and it would be dark. Max would not be plainly seen. He hoped that the hall lights would be dim also. It would be so much harder to go in daylight and thus brand himself in the eyes of those who otherwise would never know he robbed them. But sending money in a letter seemed cowardly. Now that his conscience was roused it compelled him to the extreme course.
At the two first places all went as he had planned. At the summons of the maid the man came to the door, showed surprise at the strange request, refused at first to accept pay, but finally did so, compelled by Max’s perseverance.
The third night it was different. A stripling, evidently the spoiled son of the household, insisted on knowing the business that demanded his father’s attention.
“It’s private.”