"Perhaps mother will tell me something about it when I get home," was his thought, as he hurried along the narrow street which led to his dwelling.
But again he was disappointed. His dinner was ready when he came in, but Mrs. Kendall only sat at the table in silence and attended to his wants.
Larry felt as though he could not restrain the growing feeling of apprehension caused by his mother's looks and strange reticence. They were so unlike her usual cheerfulness when he came home from school or the shop, and he could see that she had grown yet paler than when he left her at the breakfast table in the morning.
He had only a few minutes before he must return to the shop. Yet he lingered at the door, cap in hand.
"Mother, what is it?" he pleaded, as she glanced toward him.
"Don't ask me now, Larry," she answered.
Yet there was an irresolute quiver in her voice that told him that she longed to give him her confidence.
"I ought to know," he persisted. "I'm old enough to run the engine at the works. Surely you and father ought to trust me to know what troubles you. Father has gone?"
"Yes, Larry."
"When is he coming back?"