"I'm going to close the office, Herrick, until after New-Year," he
began. "I thought perhaps you might like to go away."
"I would." Herrick, whose cigar was unlighted, smiled slightly. "But I
don't think I'll go."
"Why not?"
Herrick hesitated, and his face flushed. He was nearing forty, and his
hair was already slightly gray. "There are several reasons," he said,
quietly. "Until I am able to be married I do not care to go away. She
would be alone, and Christmas alone--"
"Is--is it Miss Davis, Herrick?" Van Landing's voice was strangely
shy; then he held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, Herrick. I
congratulate you. Why didn't you tell me before; and if you want to
get married, why not? What's the use of waiting? The trip's on me.
Christmas alone--I forgot to say I've intended for some time to raise
your salary. You deserve it, and it was thoughtlessness that made me
put it off." He sat down at his desk and took his check-book out of a
spring-locked drawer and wrote hastily upon it. "That may help to
start things, Herrick, and if there's any other way--"
In Herrick's astonished face the blood pumped deep and red, and as he
took the check Van Landing put in his hands his fingers twitched
nervously.
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