“Where?” Bellair asked absently.
Davy swallowed, and before he spoke, the man saw with a queer thrill that the boy hadn’t yet learned to lie.
“Well, she goes out three days a week—to do the laundry work—for people who have had her a long time.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I’m hoping to get where she won’t have to.”
“Of course.”
The dinner was brought. Bellair tried to make up for the place—in quantity. Neither spoke for the present. The man was hungry, too.
“I’m glad you told me that,” he said after a time, “glad you told me just that way.”
Davy applied himself further. Manifestly here was a point that he need not follow.
“Davy, you’ll come through. You’re starting in the right hard way—the old-fashioned way. It won’t be so slow as you think——” He was reminded now of what Fleury had said about the little Gleam that first night in the open boat.