Keith would then also
join them. More often he would hover on the outskirts in a state of
utter misery.

Even when the school closed for the day, it depended entirely on Keith
if they were to have company home. Murray never waited. If Keith was not
in sight when he reached the street, he went right on. Several times
Keith had to run several blocks to overtake his friend.

"Why couldn't you wait a minute for me," he asked when he had recovered
his breath after one of those pursuits.

"Oh, that's so silly," was Murray's only reply, and a repetition of the
question on two or three subsequent occasions brought no more
satisfactory response. Keith did not press the matter beyond that point
and uttered no protest at Murray's real or assumed indifference.

Until then Keith had always taken East Long Street on his way to school
in the morning. Now he turned invariably down the lane to the Quay. On
reaching the corner, he took a long look at the corner house where
Murray lived. Two mornings he saw no one and walked on. The third
morning Murray happened to appear just as Keith reached the corner.
After that Keith waited for his friend, and they walked together to as
well as from school. Having waited very long one morning and fearing
that his friend had passed already, Keith ventured into the house, when
he caught sight of Murray coming out of a door reached by a little spur
of the main stairway.

"Is that where you live," asked Keith.

"That's the kitchen door," said Murray. "Our main entrance is in front
on the landing above. It's quicker for me to get out this way in the
morning, and I don't have to disturb anybody."

A few mornings later, Murray was late again, and Keith after long
hesitation walked up to the kitchen door and knocked. A pleasant-faced
serving girl opened.

"Oh, you are the little fellow who waits for George every morning," she
said with a smile. "Come in and wait here. He'll be ready in a moment."

After that Keith went straight up to the kitchen every morning. It was a
room as large as a hall, shiningly clean, and well furnished as a dining
and living-room for the three women serving there. Keith became quite
familiar with it, but he always remained by the door, and he always felt
that he ought not to be there. Yet he could no more resist going there
than he could stop breathing, it seemed.

That kitchen was the only part of Murray's home he ever saw. He never
caught a glimpse even of his friend'