Moreover, his Chief had, in
a way, added his daughter's care to his other duties. "Can't you
take Ruth to-night--" or "I wish you'd meet her at the ferry," or
"if you are going to that dinner in New York, at so-and-so's,
would you mind calling for her--" etc., etc. Don't start, dear
reader. These two came of a breed where the night key and the
daughter go together and where a chaperon would be as useless as a
policeman locked inside a bank vault.
And so the boy struggled on, growing in bodily strength and mental
experience, still the hero among the men for his heroic rescue of
the "Boss"--a reputation which he never lost; making friends every
day both in the village and in New York and keeping them; absorbed
in his slender library, and living within his means, which small
as they were, now gave him two rooms at Mrs. Hicks's,--one of
which he had fitted up as a little sitting-room and in which Ruth
had poured the first cup of tea, her father and some of the
village people being guests.
His one secret--and it was his only one--he kept locked up in his
heart, even from Peter.
Pages:
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351