give him a chance!

CHAPTER XII

He was too tired, too utterly relaxed by warmth and medicine, to think
clearly. To-morrow he would find Carmencita, and she should get the
things the children wanted. They were very strange, the places and
people he had seen to-day. Of course he had known about such places
and people, read about them, heard about them, but seeing for one's
self was different. There were a lot of bummers among these people he
had passed; much of their misery was of their own making (he had made
much of his), but the wonder was they were no worse.

Bold, bad faces, cold, pinched, hungry ones, eager, earnest, pathetic
and joyous, worn and weary, burdened and care-free, they again passed
before him, misty and ill-defined, as though the snow still veiled and
made them hazy, and none of them he knew. He wished they would stop
passing. He was very tired. They, too, were tired. Would they for
ever be passing before him, these people, these little children, he
had seen to-day? If they would go away he could think more clearly,
could think of Frances. She was here, in the house with him. At first
it had seemed strange, but it wasn't strange. It would be strange if
she were not here when he needed her, wanted her so. To-morrow would
not be too late. One could do a good deal on Christmas eve. Everybody
had been busy except himself. He would telephone to-morrow and tell
Herrick to close the office and give Miss Davis holiday until after
New-Year.

But she had nowhere to go. He had heard her tell Herrick so, and
Herrick had nowhere to go, either. Both lived in boarding-houses, he
supposed. He had never thought to ask. Herrick was a faithful old
plodder--never would be anything else--but he couldn't get on without
him. He ought to raise his salary. Why didn't Herrick ask for more
money if he wanted it? And then he could get married. Why didn't he
get married, anyhow? Once or twice he had seen him talking to Miss
Davis about something that evidently wasn't business. She was a pretty
little thing and quick as lightning--just the opposite of old
Herrick. Wouldn't it be funny if they were in love; not, of course,
like--

They had nowhere to go Christmas. If Frances would let them they might
come here--no, not here, but at his home, their home. His home was
Frances's. It wouldn't be home for him if it weren't for her also. He
would ask her. And Carmencita and her blind father, they could come,
too. It would