Conniston," she was saying, "this is my father. And, papa, this
is Mr. Hapgood."
Mr. Crawford came up the steps, giving his hand in a hearty grip to
the two men who came forward to meet him, his voice, deep and grave,
assuring them that he was glad that they had stayed over at his home.
His face was stern, grave like his voice, clean-shaven, and handsome
in a way of manly, independent strength.
"Argyl tells me," he said, to Conniston, as they all sat down, "that
you are expecting some money by wire. You are leaving us, then, right
away?"
"I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with him
again. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. There
is nothing doing."
Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward.
"He said," went on Conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me a
dollar. You see, he wants me to do something for myself. And," with a
rueful grin, "I am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for my
message--and I haven't ten cents!"
Mr. Crawford laughed with him. "We won't worry about the dollar just
now, Mr. Conniston. What are you going to do?"
Conniston scratched his head. "I don't know. I--" And then Argyl's
words came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "Most men
go to work when they're strapped, don't they? I guess I'll go to
work."
"I don't mean to be too personal, but--are you used to working?"
"I never did a day's work in my life.
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