Just before the whistles blew for dinner, he again went back to d.i.c.k and stood looking over his shoulder at a bad bit of copy the latter was trying to decipher. "Well, what do you think about it?" he asked.

"She's divine," answered d.i.c.k absently, as he carefully placed a capital A upside down.

George threw back his head and roared; "Well, you've got it sure," he said, when he could speak.

"Got what?" asked d.i.c.k in wonder.

"Oh, nothing," replied the other, going off with another shout. "But look here;" he said, after a moment; very serious this time; "Let me give you a piece of good advice, my friend; don't you go to thinking about _that_ girl too much."

"What girl? Whose thinking about her? You need have no fears on that score," said d.i.c.k, a little sharply.

"Oh, you needn't get mad about it, a fellow can't help but think a chap is. .h.i.t when he falls down, can he?" And with another laugh, George removed his ap.r.o.n and left for dinner.

"Yes, it did look bad;" said d.i.c.k to himself, as he dried his hands on the office towel; "but I never saw such eyes; and she's as good as she looks too; but Adam Goodrich's daughter, Whew--" And he whistled softly to himself as he thought of his first meeting with the wealthy hardware merchant.

That evening while Miss Goodrich was entertaining a few of her friends at her beautiful home on the avenue, and while Udell, with Clara Wilson, was calling on old Mother Gray, whose husband had been injured in the mines, d.i.c.k worked alone in the printing office. The little book, as Amy called it, was a pamphlet issued by the literary club of which she was the secretary, and never since the time when he set his first line of type, had d.i.c.k been so bothered over a bit of printing. The sweet brown eyes and smiling lips of the young woman were constantly coming between him and his work, and he paused often to carry on an imaginary conversation with her. Sometimes he told her funny incidents from his adventurous past and heard her laugh in keen appreciation. Then they talked of more earnest things and her face grew grave and thoughtful.

Again he told her all his plans and ambitions, and saw her eyes light with sympathy as she gladly promised her helpful friendship. Then, inspired by her interest, he grew bolder, and forgetting the task before him altogether, fought life's battles in the light of her smiles, conquering every difficulty, and winning for himself a place and name among men. And then, as he laid his trophies at her feet, her father, the wealthy merchant, appeared, and d.i.c.k walked the floor in a blind rage.

But he managed to finish his work at last, and about three o'clock, tumbled on to his cot in the stock room, where he spent the rest of the night trying to rescue Amy from her father, who a.s.sumed the shape of a hardware dragon, with gold eyes, and had imprisoned the young lady in a log cabin near the river, beneath a hill upon which grew a pine tree tipped with fire, while a lean hound sat at the water's edge and howled.

CHAPTER VI

Uncle Bobbie Wicks pulled down the top of his desk and heard the lock click with a long sigh of satisfaction, for a glance at his large, old-fashioned hunting-case watch told him that it was nearly eleven o'clock. It was a dismal, dreary, rainy night; just the sort of a night to make a man thank G.o.d that he had a home; and those who had homes to go to were already there, except a few business men, who like Mr.

Wicks, were obliged to be out on work of especial importance.

Locking the rear door of the office and getting hastily into his rain coat, the old gentleman took his hat and umbrella from the rack and stepped out into the storm. As he was trudging along through the wet, his mind still on business, a gleam of light from the window of Udell's printing office caught his eye. "h.e.l.lo!" he said to himself; "George is working late tonight; guess I'll run in and see if he's got that last batch of bill-heads fixed yet; we'll need 'em tomorrow morning.

Howdy, George," he said, a few seconds later; and then stopped, for it was not Udell, but d.i.c.k, who was bending over the stone; and in place of working with the type, he was playing a game of solitaire, while he pulled away at an old corn-cob pipe.

"Good evening," said the young man, pausing in his amus.e.m.e.nt, "What can I do for you?"

"I see ye got a job," said Uncle Bobbie.

"Yes," d.i.c.k replied, as he shuffled the cards; "and a very good one too."

"Huh! looks like ye weren't overworked just now."

"Oh, this is out of hours; we quit at six, you know."

"Strikes me ye might find somethin' better to do than foolin' with them dirty pasteboards, if 'tis out of hours;" said Mr. Wicks, pointedly.

"They are rather soiled," remarked d.i.c.k, critically examining the queen of hearts; and then he continued, in a matter-of-fact tone, "you see I found them back of the coal box; some fellow had thrown them away, I guess. Lucky for me that he did."

"Lucky for you? Is that the best you can do with your time?"

"Perhaps you would suggest some more elevating amus.e.m.e.nt," smiled d.i.c.k.

"Well, why don't you read somethin'?"

The young man waved his pipe toward a lot of month-old papers and printers journals--"My dear sir, I have gone through that pile three times and have exhausted every almanac in this establishment."

"Visit some of your friends."

"Not one in the city except Udell," answered the other, "and if I had--" he glanced down at his worn clothing.

Mr. Wicks tried again; "Well, go somewhere."

"Where?" asked d.i.c.k. "There is only one place open to _me_--the saloon--I haven't money enough for that, and if I had, I wouldn't spend it there now. I might go to some respectable gambling den, I suppose, but there's the money question again, and my foolish pride, so I play solitaire. I know I am in good company at least, if the sport isn't quite so exciting."

Uncle Bobbie was silent. The rain swished against the windows and roared on the tin roof of the building; the last car of the evening, with one lone pa.s.senger, scurried along Broadway, its lights brightly reflected on the wet pavement; a cab rumbled toward the hotel, the sound of the horses' feet dull and m.u.f.fled in the mist; and a solitary policeman, wrapped in his rubber coat, made his way along the almost deserted street. As Uncle Bobbie stood listening to the lonely sounds and looking at the young man, with his corn-cob pipe and pack of dirty cards, he thought of his own cheery fireside and of his waiting wife.

"To-be-sure," he said at last, carefully placing his umbrella in a corner near the door, and as carefully removing his coat and hat; "To-be-sure, I quit smokin' sometime ago--'bout a month, I reckon--used to smoke pretty nigh all the time, but wife she wanted me to quit--I don't know as there is any use in it." A long pause followed, as he drew a chair to the stove and seated himself. "To-be-sure, I don't know as there's any great harm in it either." There was another pause, while d.i.c.k also placed his chair near the stove--"and I git so plaguey fat every time I quit."

d.i.c.k tilted back and lazily blew a soft cloud into the air. Uncle Bobbie arose and placed the coal bucket between them. "Told mother last night I was gettin' too fat again--but it made me sick last time I tried it--I wonder if it would make me sick now."--A longer pause than usual followed--then: "It's really dangerous for me to get so fat, and smokin' 's the only thing that keeps it down. D'ye reckon it would make me sick again?" He drew a cigar from his pocket, almost as big as a cannon fire-cracker and fully as dangerous. "I got this t'day.

Looks like a pretty good one. It didn't use to make me sick 'fore I quit the last time." d.i.c.k handed him a match and two minutes later the big cigar was burning as freely as its nature would permit.

"What an awful wasteful habit it is to-be-sure, ain't it?" went on the old gentleman between vigorous puffs. "Just think, there's school books, and Bibles and baby clothes and medicine for the sick, and food for the hungry, and houses and stores, and farms, and cattle, all a'

goin' up in that smoke;" he pointed with his cigar to the blue cloud that hung between them. "If I had half the money church members burn, I could take care of every old worn-out preacher in the world, and have a good bit left over for the poor children. I wisht I was as young as you be; I'd quit it fer good; but it sure does take a hold on an old feller like me."

d.i.c.k's face grew thoughtful. "I never looked at it in that way before,"

he said, as he took his pipe from his mouth; "It's a big comfort to a chap who is all alone, though I suppose it does get a strong hold on a man who has used it most of his life; and a fellow could do a lot of good with the money it costs him." He arose to his feet and went to the window, where he stood for a moment looking out into the rain.

Presently he came back to his chair again; "Look out," cried Uncle Bobbie, as d.i.c.k took his seat, "You've dropped your pipe into the coal bucket."

"Oh, that's all right; its worn-out anyway, and I have another."

But he smoked no more that evening.

"Where are you from?" asked Wicks abruptly.

"Everywhere," answered d.i.c.k, shortly, for he did not relish the thought of being questioned about his past.

"Where you goin'?" came next from his companion.

"Nowhere," just as short.

"Folks livin'?"

"No."

"How long been dead?"

"Since I was a little fellow."

"Ain't you got no relations?"

"Don't want any if they're like an aunt of mine."

Uncle Bobbie nodded in sympathy.