I've told you all I know, Virg."
"I guess so, I guess so," Adams said, mournfully. "I feel mighty
obliged to you, Charley Lohr; mighty obliged. Good-night to
you." And he departed, sighing in perplexity.
On his way home, preoccupied with many thoughts, he walked so
slowly that once or twice he stopped and stood motionless for a
few moments, without being aware of it; and when he reached the
juncture of the sidewalk with the short brick path that led to
his own front door, he stopped again, and stood for more than a
minute. "Ah, I wish I knew," he whispered, plaintively. "I do
wish I knew what he thought about it."
He was roused by a laugh that came lightly from the little
veranda near by. "Papa!" Alice called gaily. "What are you
standing there muttering to yourself about?"
"Oh, are you there, dearie?" he said, and came up the path. A
tall figure rose from a chair on the veranda.
"Papa, this is Mr. Russell."
The two men shook hands, Adams saying, "Pleased to make your
acquaintance," as they looked at each other in the faint light
diffused through the opaque glass in the upper part of the
door. Adams's impression was of a strong and tall young man,
fashionable but gentle; and Russell's was of a dried, little old
business man with a grizzled moustache, worried bright eyes,
shapeless dark clothes, and a homely manner.
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