“See my father!” gasped the girl.
“Yes, Miss Gladys.”
“But what for?”
“To try to get him to see how wicked these things are.”
The other was staring at him with wide-open, startled eyes. “Do you mean,” she cried, “that you want to go to my father and talk to him about what he's doing in politics?”
“Why, yes, Miss Gladys—what else can I do?”
And Miss Gladys took out her handkerchief, and leaned down upon the table, hiding her face. She was overcome with some emotion, the nature of which was not apparent.
The boy was naturally alarmed. “Miss Gladys!” he cried. “You aren't angry with me?”
She answered, in a muffled voice, “No, Samuel—no!”
Then she looked up, her face somewhat red. “Go and see him, Samuel!” she said.