“Well, there was a reason—though the facts of my case are exactly as stated. Lot & Company had a reason. I haven’t decided whether it will be necessary to make that known.... But I didn’t bring you here to discuss this affair. I wanted to see you——”
Just then Mr. Broadwell was paged. A messenger was said to be waiting for him in the lobby.
“Send him in,” Broadwell said thoughtlessly.
Davy Acton came, and Broadwell saw his error. Bellair perceived that his luncheon-companion had made known his engagement at the office before leaving....
“Sit down, Davy. I’m glad to see you——”
The boy had grown. Bellair noted that simple thing, as he noted the fact also that Davy was tortured with embarrassment, and had not meant to come in. He wriggled his hand forward to take Bellair’s, which was held toward his, and then looked down shamefacedly, as if he had been charged with theft. Bellair knew well that the boy’s trouble was how to meet him—formerly a friend, but now an outcast from the firm. A kind of darkness stole over him. He saw now that Broadwell believed him a thief, even as the landlady had believed; but in the case of neither of these did the dread finality come to him, as from the face of this stricken boy.
This was the thought that shot through Bellair’s mind, “No one liked Davy so well as I did; no one tried to help him as I did; and now he thinks my liking and my helping, a part of the looseness of character which made me a thief.”
The thought was strange, yet natural, too. It came into the darkness which had covered the abode of Bellair’s consciousness.
“A bit of copy—that I missed getting off,” Broadwell was saying. “I was excited when you called.... All right, Davy. I’ve told ’em where to find it on the back of the note.... And now Bellair—you were saying——”