employer to allow the boy to
go home with him and remain until the function was over. Ah, what an
evening the two cronies had together that night! The Scotchman grilled
chops in his tiny kitchenette and baked macaroni too; and made ambrosial
hot chocolate. Then there were hot rolls, fancy cakes, and ice cream
that appeared as it by magic from goodness only knew where. And
afterward, when the little flat had been tidied up (a task in which
Christopher shared), McPhearson got out his flute and such wonderful old
Scotch airs as he played! "Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon," "Annie
Laurie," "Mary of Argyle," "The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee"--he knew them
all and scores of others.

There was a fire in the microscopic fireplace, there was a box of candy,
and there was plenty of fun and good talk. Later they had gone to see
the big Metropolitan Life Insurance clock and watch its shooting red and
white lights. Seldom had Christopher passed so happy an evening or one
that flew by so quickly.

When Mr. Burton came with the taxi to take him home it was almost
unbelievable it could really be eleven o'clock.

"I hope my son hasn't tired you all out, McPhearson," said the head of
the firm. "It was very kind of you to bother with him."

"It was kind of you to let him come."

[Illustration: Ah, what an evening the two cronies had together
that night. _Page_ 164.]

That was all the old man vouchsafed. He wasn't one given to talking much
about the things he cherished deeply. But more than once after the boy
had gone he recalled the picture the lad had made sitting there in the
firelight; remembered the brightness of his smile and the gayety of his
laughter. Even a flute could not furnish music as light-hearted. It was
long since anything so joyous had echoed through the dim, dingy rooms.
He wished he could fool himself into believing he was as young as he
felt that night.

"Perhaps," observed he the next day, when Christopher referred to the
evening, "your father will let you come again sometime. He may have
another dinner or a meeting of some sort that will keep him in town."

"I wish he would," exclaimed Christopher heartily.

They were sitting together at the repairing bench, the clockmaker busy
with an old chronometer.

"That's a new variety of puzzle, isn't it?" commented the boy, motioning
toward it.

"Oh, I tinker a chronometer once in a while," McPhearson answered. "I
don't get them often, though."

"What