Roberts got to his feet slowly. If in the new light of understanding there was more he had intended saying that day, or if at the sudden barring of opportunity he felt disappointment, his face gave no indication of the fact. He merely smiled in tolerant appreciation of the suggestion last made.
“Doesn’t your father know the remedy for hunger yet, at his age?” he queried whimsically.
“Knows it, yes,” with an odd laugh; “but it would never occur to him unless some one else suggested it.”
A pause, then she looked her companion full in the face, significantly so. “He’s dependent and irresponsible as a child or—as Steve Armstrong. They’re helpless both, absolutely, left to themselves; and speaking of that, they’re both by themselves now.” She started for the motor hastily, again significantly so.
“Come, please,” she requested.
CHAPTER VI
CRISIS
It was nearly dark when the big red car drew up in front of the Gleason cottage and, the girl only alighting, moved on again slowly down the street. At the second crossing beyond, out of sight of the house, it switched abruptly to the right for four blocks, into the poorer section of the town, and stopped before a battered, old-fashioned residence. A middle-aged man in his shirt sleeves sat on the step smoking a pipe. At a nod from the driver he advanced to the curb.