Doodles walked into the great office of the Fair Harbor Paper Company and asked to see Mr. Randolph.

"We hired a boy last week. We don't want any more." The clerk was turning away.

"Oh, I'm not applying for a place!" cried Doodles, his voice full of laughter. "I wish to see the president on business."

The young man scowled, irritated by his blunder, and surveyed the boy with a disagreeable sneer.

"Well, he's too busy to attend to kids. What do you want anyhow?"

Doodles hesitated. He did not wish to tell his errand to this pompous young person.

"Please say to Mr. Randolph that I would like to see him on important business about the June Holiday Home."

"Who sent you?"

"No one; but I have a letter of introduction."

"Oh, you have! Hand it out!"

Doodles made no move toward his pocket.

"I wish to give it to Mr. Randolph himself," he said gently.

"Well, you can't see him. He's busy now."

"I will wait," replied the boy, and took a chair.

The clerk went behind the railing and sat down at a desk.

Doodles looked out on the street and watched the pa.s.sers.

Occasionally his eyes would wander back to the office and over the array of men and women bent to their work, then they would return to the wide doorway. He felt that he had small chance to speak with Mr. Randolph until he should go to luncheon, and that, he argued to himself, would not be a very good time to present his business. He wished that the unpleasant young clerk would go first--he would like to try some other.

Men and women came and went, some of them disappearing in the rear, where, undoubtedly, was the man he sought. If only he dared follow! Finally the offensive youth came out through the gate and over to where he sat.

"Here, you kid," he began in an insolent tone, "you've hung round here long enough! Now beat it!"

Into the soft brown eyes of Doodles shot an angry light.

The other saw it and smiled sneeringly. He did not count on the lad's strength.

In a moment the indignation had pa.s.sed. There was none of it in the quiet voice. "Good-day, sir!"

Doodles was gone.

A plan had instantly formed in his mind. He would get himself a lunch, and then wait outside the office until Mr. Randolph appeared. That was the only way. It never occurred to him to give the matter up.

One restaurant was pa.s.sed; it did not look inviting. The next was better, but flies were crawling over the bottles and jars in the window. He went on.

"It will cost more, I suppose," he muttered regretfully to himself, as he entered a neat cafe where the door was opened to him by a boy in livery.

"Bread and milk," he ordered of the trim maid, and he smiled to himself contentedly at the daintiness with which it was served.

The milk was cool and sweet, and Doodles was hungry. The whistles and clocks announced that it was noon, and soon afterward people began to stream in. Women with shopping-bags and bundles, men with newspapers, hatless working-girls; but everywhere were courtesy and low voices. Doodles was glad of his choice.

He sat eating slowly, wishing he knew at what time he would be most likely to meet Mr. Randolph, when he stared at a man coming toward him--it was the president of the Paper Company! The boy drew in a delighted breath--what great good luck!

Mr. Randolph sat down at a little table not far away. He looked tired, the lad thought, and he decided to wait until the close of the meal, if he could manage to make his own small supply of milk last long enough.

"Nothing more, thank you," Doodles told the maid who came to ask.

"This milk is very nice," he added, which brought out an answering smile.

At last the president had reached his fruit.

The boy's last crumb had vanished long ago, and he thought he might venture across to the other table.

"May I speak with you a moment, sir?" he asked softly, taking the letter from his pocket.

"Certainly." The man bowed with his accustomed courtesy.

"Polly Dudley gave me this for you."

At mention of the name a pleasant light over-spread the grave face.

The lad watched him as he read. The light deepened, then the brows drew together in a scowl. Doodles wondered what Polly had written.

"This lady is a friend of yours, I take it."

The keen gray eyes looked straight at the boy.

"Yes, sir," Doodles smiled, "though a very new one. I never saw her till yesterday."

The eyes bent upon him widened a little.

The lad told his story as simply as possible, touching lightly upon his own part in it. "And so," he ended artlessly, his appealing brown eyes looking straight into the steady gray ones, "I thought, even if there were rules and patches and things she didn't like, it would be better than the poorhouse."

A little amused smile replaced the hint of surprise on the man's face.

"Where do you sing?" he asked abruptly.

"At St. Bartholomew's Church, Foxford."

"Did you come down expressly to see me about this?"

"Yes, sir," answered Doodles.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't." A smile overspread the small face. "I waited at your office until"--he hesitated an instant--"I thought I would find you after I had had a lunch."