"I want it myself."
"Oh—for a sign. Well, young man, you don't know what it's the sign of, after all," and here Mr. Rush evidently set himself against the world.
"I hope it's the sign of a friend," answered Summerman, who was keeping up his spirits by an effort, for the mere presence of this man weighed on them with an almost intolerable weight. Yet he was sparing no effort to retain that presence.
"Why do you hope that?" asked Mr. Rush with a disagreeable show of authority.
"Because we met at the church door on Christmas day." Simple answer—yet it was spoken so gently, so truthfully, it seemed to make an impression.
"Christmas day. So it is. But it's getting late. How high is the sun yet?"
"Three hours, maybe."
Hearing this, the gentleman turned away, and walked to the further extremity of the shop. Summerman's eyes followed him with anxiety. But he went on polishing a plate, and seemed beyond all things intent on that.
Presently Mr. Rush came back.
"You may take my likeness," said he. "You are a good fellow. And it will help pass time."