During that next week Don found a great deal of time in which to think. He was surprised at how much time he had. It was as if the hours in the day were doubled. Where before he seldom had more than time to hurry home and dress for his evening engagements, he now found that, even when he walked home, he was left with four or five idle hours on his hands.

If a man is awake and hasn’t anything else to do, he must think. He began by thinking about Frances, and wondering what she was doing, until young Schuyler intruded himself,––Schuyler, as it happened, had taken the same boat, having been sent abroad to convalesce from typhoid,––and after that there was not much satisfaction in wondering what she was doing. He knew how sympathetic Frances was, and how good she would be to Schuyler under these circumstances. Not that he mistrusted her in the least––she was not the kind 154 to lose her head and forget. But, at the same time, it did not make him feel any the less lonesome to picture them basking in the sun on the deck of a liner while he was adding innumerable little figures beneath an electric light in the rear of the cashier’s cage in a downtown office. It did not do him any good whatever.

However, the conclusion of such uneasy wondering was to force him back to a study of the investment securities of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. Right or wrong, the ten thousand was necessary, and he must get it. On the whole, this had a wholesome effect. For the next few weeks he doubled his energies in the office. That this counted was proved by a penciled note which he received at the club one evening:––

Mr. Donald Pendleton.

Dear Sir:––

You’re making good, and Farnsworth knows it.

Sincerely yours,
Sarah Kendall Winthrop.

To hear from her like this was like meeting an old friend upon the street. It seemed to say 155 that in all these last three weeks, when he thought he was occupying the city of New York all by himself, she, as a matter of fact, had been sharing it with him. She too had been doing her daily work and going home at night, where presumably she ate her dinner and lived through the long evenings right here in the same city. He seldom caught a glimpse of her even in the office now, for Seagraves took all her time. Her desk had been moved into his office. Yet, she had been here all the while. It made him feel decidedly more comfortable.

The next day at lunch-time Don waited outside the office for her, and, unseen by her, trailed her to her new egg sandwich place. He waited until she had had time to order, and then walked in as if quite by accident. She was seated, as usual, in the farthest corner.

“Why, hello,” he greeted her.

She looked up in some confusion. For several days she had watched the entrance of every arrival, half-expecting to see him stride in. But she no longer did that, and had fallen back into the habit of eating her lunch quite oblivious of 156 all the rest of the world. Now it seemed like picking up the thread of an old story, and she was not quite sure she desired this.

“Hello,” he repeated.

“Hello,” she answered.

There was an empty seat next to hers.

“Will you hold that for me?” he asked.

“They don’t let you reserve seats here,” she told him.

“Then I guess I’d better not take a chance,” he said, as he sat down in it.

He had not changed any in the last few months.

“Do you expect me to go and get your lunch for you?” she inquired.

“No,” he assured her. “I don’t expect to get any lunch.”

She hesitated.

“I was mighty glad to get your note,” he went on. “I was beginning to think I’d got lost in the shuffle.”

“You thought Mr. Farnsworth had forgotten you?”

“I sure did. I hadn’t laid eyes on him for a week.”

“Mr. Farnsworth never forgets,” she answered.

“How about the others?”

“There isn’t any one else worth speaking of in that office.”

“How about you?”

“I’m one of those not worth speaking of,” she replied.

She met his eyes steadily.

“Seagraves doesn’t seem to feel that way. He keeps you in there all the time now.”

“The way he does his office desk,” she nodded. “You’d better get your lunch.”

“I’ll lose my chair.”

“Oh, get your sandwich; I’ll hold the chair for you,” she answered impatiently.

He rose immediately, and soon came back with his plate and coffee-cup.

“Do you know I haven’t had one of these things or a chocolate Éclair since the last time I was in one of these places with you?”

“What have you been eating?”

“Doughnuts and coffee, mostly.”

“That isn’t nearly so good for you,” she declared.

He adjusted himself comfortably.

“This is like getting back home,” he said.

“Home?”

She spoke the word with a frightened, cynical laugh.

“Well, it’s more like home than eating alone at the other places,” he said.

“They are all alike,” she returned––“just places in which to eat.”

She said it with some point, but he did not see the point. He took a bite of his egg sandwich.

“Honest, this tastes pretty good,” he assured her.

He was eating with a relish and satisfaction that he had not known for a long time. It was clear that the credit for this was due in some way to Sarah Kendall Winthrop, though that was an equally curious phenomenon. Except that he had, or assumed, the privilege of talking to her, she was scarcely as intimate a feature of his life as Nora.

“How do you like your new work?” she inquired.

“It’s fierce,” he answered. “It’s mostly arithmetic.”

“It all helps,” she said. “All you have to do now is just to keep at it. Keeping posted on the bonds?”

“Yes. But as fast as I learn a new one, it’s sold.”

“That’s all right,” she answered. “The more you learn, the better. Some day Mr. Farnsworth will call you in and turn you loose on your friends.”

“You think so?”

“I know it, if you keep going. But you can’t let up––not for one day.”

“If I can only last through the summer,” he reflected aloud. “Have you ever spent a summer in town?”

“Where else would I spend a summer?” she inquired.

“I like the mountains myself. Ever been to Fabyan House?”

She looked to see if he was joking. He was not. He had spent the last three summers very pleasantly in the White Mountains.

“No,” she answered. “A ten-cent trolley trip is my limit.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere I can find trees or water. You can get quite a trip right in Central Park, and it’s good fun to watch the kiddies getting an airing.”

There was a note in her voice that made him turn his head toward her. The color sprang to her cheeks.

“It’s time I was getting back,” she announced as she rose. “This is Mr. Seagraves’s busy day.”

“But look here; I haven’t finished my Éclair!”

“Then you’d better devote the next five minutes to that,” she advised.

She disappeared through the door, and in another second was blended with a thousand others.

Don drew out his memorandum book and made the following entry:––

“Visit Central Park some day and watch the kiddies.”