Part 73 (1/2)

”Does she know you at all, Mr. Anderson?” Carroll said, in a dazed sort of fas.h.i.+on.

”She knows me a little. I have, of course, seen her in my store.”

”Yes.”

”And once, as you may remember, she came here.”

”Yes, when she had the fright from the tramp.”

”She cannot know me very well, I admit.”

”I don't see that you know her very well, either, for that matter.”

”I know her well enough,” said Anderson. ”I have no doubt as far as I am concerned. My only doubt is for her, not only whether she can care sufficiently for me, but whether, if she should care, it would be the best thing for her. I am much older than she. I can support her in comfort, but not in luxury, probably never in luxury; and you know my position, that I have been forced to abandon a profession which would give my wife a better social standing. You know all that; there is no need of my dwelling upon it.”

Anderson said that with an indescribable pride, and yet with a perfect acquiescence in the situation. He looked at Carroll, who remained quite pale, looking at him with an inscrutable expression of astonishment. Finally he smiled a little.

”As they say in the comic column, this is so sudden, Mr. Anderson,”

he said.

”I can well imagine so,” Anderson replied, smiling in his turn. ”It is rather sudden to me. Nothing was further from my intention than to say this to-night.”

Carroll looked at him soberly. ”Mr. Anderson, it all depends upon the child,” he said. ”If Charlotte likes you, that is all there is to be said about it. You are a good man and you can take care of her. As far as the other goes, I have no right to say anything. Frankly, I should prefer that you had succeeded in your profession than in your present business, on her account.”

”So should I,” said Anderson, gloomily.

”But it is all for her to decide. Come and call, and let matters take their course. But--I shall say nothing to her about this. A girl like Charlotte is a sensitive thing. Call and see. As far as I am concerned--” Carroll paused a second. Then he rose and held out his hand. ”I have no reason whatever to object to you as a husband for my daughter, and my son-in-law,” he said.

”Thank you,” said Anderson.

Carroll had gone out of the door, and Anderson was just about to close it after him, when he turned back. ”By-the-way, Mr. Anderson,”

he said, and Anderson understood that he was about to say what had been on his mind before and he had refrained from expressing. ”I want to inquire if you have any acquaintance with the large grocery house of Kidder & Ladd, in the City?” he asked.

”A slight business acquaintance,” replied Anderson, wonderingly.

”I saw,” said Carroll, in an odd, breathless sort of voice, ”an advertis.e.m.e.nt for a--floor-walker in that house. I wondered, in the event of my applying for it, if you would be willing to give me a letter of introduction to one of the firm, if you were sufficiently acquainted.”

”Certainly,” said Anderson, but he was aware that he almost gasped out the answer.

”I saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt,” said Carroll again. ”I have to make some change in my business, and”--he essayed a laugh--”I have to think, as we have agreed is the thing to do, of some salable wares in my possession. It did occur to me that I might make a pa.s.sable floor-walker. I have even thought of a drum-major, but there seems no vacancy in that line. If you would.”

”Certainly,” said Anderson again. ”Would you like it now?”

”If it is not too much trouble.”

Anderson hastened to the old-fas.h.i.+oned secretary in the sitting-room and wrote a line of introduction on a card while Carroll waited.

”Thank you,” Carroll said, taking it and placing it carefully in his pocket-book. The two men shook hands again; Carroll went with his stately stride down the street. It was snowing a little. Anderson thought idly how he had not offered him an umbrella, as he saw the flakes driving past the electric light outside as he pulled down the window-curtains, but he was as yet too dazed to fully appreciate anything. He was dazed both by his own procedure and by that of the other man. It was as if two knights in a mock tourney had met, both riding at full speed. He had his own momentum and that of the other in the shock of meeting.

His mother's door opened as he went up-stairs with his night-lamp, and her head in a white lace-trimmed cap, for she still clung to the night-gear of her early youth, peered out at him.

”Who was it?” she asked, softly, as if the guest were still within hearing.