“Who was that old man who just went past?”
“That? Oh, that's the manager's father. Why?”
“Well, he looks most awfully like some one else, that's all,” and he appeared to lose interest.
“No, he's old man Oakley. He works in the shops.”
“Oakley?”
“Yes, that's his name. Why?” curiously.
“How long has he been here, anyhow?”
“A month perhaps, maybe longer. Do you know him?”
“I've seen him before. A cousin of mine, John Kenyon, is warden of a prison back in Massachusetts. It runs in the blood to hold office. I visited him last winter, and while I was there a fire broke out in the hospital ward, and that old man had a hand in saving the lives of two or three of the patients. The beggars came within an ace of losing their lives. I saw afterwards by the papers that the Governor had pardoned him.”
Ryder jumped up with sudden alacrity.