He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for
ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he
had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly,
could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first
it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if
she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would
not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody
had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell
Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after
New-Year.
But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and
Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he
supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old
plodder--never would be anything else--but he couldn't get on without
him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more
money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he
get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss
Davis about something that evidently wasn't business.
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