All that day his face had been in a broad
smile; even the old book-keeper noticed it and so did Patrick, the
night-watchman and sometimes porter; and so did the line of
depositors who inched along to his window and were greeted with a
flash-light play of humor on his face instead of the more sedate,
though equally kindly expression which always rested on his
features when at work. But that was nothing to the way he hugged
Jack and Ruth--separately--together--then Ruth, then Jack--and
then both together again, only stopping at MacFarlane, whose hand
he grabbed with a "Great day! hey? Great day! By Cricky, Henry,
these are the things that put new wine into old leather bottles
like you and me."
And this was not all that the spring and summer had brought. Fresh
sap had risen in Jack's veins. This girl by his side was his own--
something to work for--something to fight for. MacFarlane felt
the expansion and put him in full charge of the work, relieving
him often in the night shifts, when the boy would catch a few
hours' sleep, and when, you may be sure, he stopped long enough at
the house to get his arms around Ruth before he turned in for the
night or the morning, or whenever he did turn in.
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