ingenious machinery worked on. Presently it pushed out and laid before
him the complete record, neatly ticketed and arranged, the full dossier,
of all that had passed between him and the girl. But she was nearly
through the door before he had decided to say:
"I had another letter from my father last night."
"Oh!" she said, turning at once--"_Did_ you!"
He nodded, gloomily. "However, there was not a cent of money in it."
If he had racked his brains for a subject calculated to detain
her--which we may rely upon it that he did not do--he could not have hit
upon a surer one. Sharlee Weyland had a great fund of pity for this
young man's worse than fatherlessness, and did not in the least mind
showing it. She came straight back into the room and up to the table
where he sat.
"Does it help you at all--about knowing where he is, I mean?"
"Not in the least. I wonder what he's up to anyway?"
He squinted up at her interrogatively through his circular glasses, as
though she ought to be able to tell him if anybody could. Then a thought
very much like that took definite shape in his mind. He himself had no
time to give to mysterious problems and will-o'-the-wisp pursuits; his
book and posterity claimed it all. This girl was familiar with the
city; doubtless knew all the people; she seemed intelligent and capable,
as girls went. He remembered that he had consulted her about securing
remunerative work, with some results; possibly she would also have
something sensible to say about his paternal problem. He might make an
even shrewder stroke. As his landlady's agent, this girl would of course
be interested in establishing his connection with a relative who had
twenty-dollar bills to give away. Therefore if it ever should come to a
search, why mightn't he turn the whole thing over to the agent--persuade
her to hunt his father for him, and thus leave his own time free for the
service of the race?
"Look here," said he, with a glance at his watch. "I'll take a few
minutes. Kindly sit down there and I'll show you how the man is
|