She managed to tell him.

"Golly! we are all right, then. We can talk over the eats, an' you can tell me your troubles and I'll relate the story of my life to you--eh?"

The girl tried to smile at him, for she realized that his chatter was kept up partly for the purpose of covering her disappointment. But Nancy was no baby-girl; by the time the elevator reached the lower floor of the building she had winked back her tears and the ache had gone out of her throat.

"This way, Nancy," said her conductor, cheerfully rushing her through the revolving door to the sidewalk. "There's Arrandale's over yonder. If I'd known I was going to eat at such a swell place to-day I'd have worn my glad rags--good duds, you know."

"You--you look all right," returned Nancy, smiling, for the red-headed boy did indeed have a neat appearance. Somebody took pains to make him spruce when he started for the office in the morning. "I guess you've got some folks?" she questioned.

"Sure. My mother scrubs out the offices. That's how I come by my job. My big sister keeps house for us, an' the kids are in school. Yes! there's folks enough belonging to me. But my father is dead."

"I--I don't know anything about my father or mother--or any of my folks."

"No! Don't old Gordon know?"

"He says not."

"And he's your guardeen?"

Nancy was silent for a moment. But she was a perfectly honest girl and she knew she was allowing Scorch to gain a wrong impression.

"He--he isn't my guardian," she blurted out as they crossed the street.

"Hey? I thought you said he was!"

"And I thought so, then. This is the first time I ever saw him. He says he is not my guardian and that he doesn't know anything about me. He only has money sent to him to spend for me."

"You don't mean it?" cried Scorch, his eyes twinkling. "That's like a story; ain't it? You're the mysterious heiress who doesn't know who she is. That's great!"

"Do you think so?" demanded Nancy, rather warmly. "Well, let me tell you it isn't nice at all."

"Why not?" demanded the romance-loving youth.

"Why.... The girls at school think it's so odd. I'm just Miss n.o.body from Nowhere. And they've all got folks."

"Gee!" observed Scorch, getting a new idea of the situation.

They reached the door of the fashionable restaurant and Scorch led the way in with characteristic _sang froid_. He would have approached a king or an emperor with perfect ease. Nothing ever "feazed" him, as he was wont to boast.

The head-waiter looked a little askance at the red-headed office boy; but Nancy, in her neat outfit, rea.s.sured him, and he led them to a table and drew out the chair for the girl.

"Bring us a couple of time-tables so we can pick our eats," ordered Scorch.

"Hush!" commanded Nancy, blushing a little. "Other people will hear you."

"That's what I talk for," declared the unabashed boy.

"Well, now you're going to be a real nice boy while you're with me; aren't you? They might take you for my brother, and I wouldn't want to be ashamed of your manners."

"That's a hot one!" observed Scorch, admiringly. "You're not so slow after all, Nancy."

"_Miss_ Nancy, please," corrected the girl, smiling at him.

"Say! but you are particular."

"I believe you know how to conduct yourself much better than you appear," said the girl, looking at him seriously.

"Discovered!" mocked the red-haired one, grinning. "But it's hard work to be proper."

"Why?"

"Because of my hair."

"Your hair?"

"Yep."

"I don't see what--what light-colored hair has to do with your manners,"

confessed Nancy.

"'Light-colored'--I like that!" exclaimed Scorch. "Trying to let me down easy--eh?"

"We-ell----"

"It's red. Say! n.o.body's ever let me forget it since I could creep,"

declared the boy. "I useter lick all the boys I could at Number Six school, an' those that I couldn't lick I throwed stones at. For calling my hair out o' name, I mean."

"I suppose being red-headed _is_ hard," commented Nancy.

"Say! bein' an heiress without no folks ain't in it with being a carrot-top," said Scorch, grinning.

"Don't you think so?"

"The folks in the office began getting fresh right away," went on the boy, earnestly. "Some of the girls that run the typewriters was as bad as the w.i.l.l.y-boys, too. They'd come up and try warming their hands over my head, an' all those back-number jokes.

"So I had ter give 'em better than they sent, or they'd have put it all over me. Men that come in to see the boss, or Old Gordon, or the others, see my fiery top-knot, and they try to crack jokes on me. So I have to crack a few.

"So that's why I act so fresh. Natcherly I'm as tame as though I wore a velvet jacket and curls; it's just havin' to defend myself, that's made me what I am," declared Scorch, shaking his head, mournfully, as he prepared to eat his soup with much gusto.

"Oh, don't!" begged Nancy. "Don't make so much noise."

"That's so! I was thinkin' I was at Joe's, where I us'lly feeds," and the boy proceeded to use his spoon with a proper regard for the niceties of the table.

"There! I knew very well you knew how," said Nancy.

"But it hurts!" exclaimed Scorch, with a wicked grin.

"And that is never your real name?" asked Nancy, after a moment.