"No, ma'am."
"Does he owe you money" He could see the underlying blood dye her dusky
cheeks when she asked the question desperately, as it seemed to him with a
kind of brazen shame to which custom had inured her. She had somehow the
air of some gentle little creature of the forests defending her young.
"Not a cent, ma'am. I don't want to do him any harm."
"I didn't hear your name."
"I haven't mentioned it," he admitted, with the sunny smile that was a
letter of recommendation in itself. "Fact is I'd rather not tell it till he
sees me."
From an adjoining room a querulous voice broke into their conversation.
"Who is it, Norma?"
"A gentleman to see you, Tom."
"Who is it?" more sharply.
"It is I, Mr. Pelton. I came to have a talk with you." Yesler pushed
forward into the dingy sitting-room with the pertinacity of a bookagent. "I
heard you were not well, and I came to find out if I can do anything for
you."
The stout man lying on the lounge grew pale before the blood reacted in a
purple flush. His very bulk emphasized the shabbiness of the stained and
almost buttonless Prince Albert coat he wore, the dinginess of the little
room he seemed to dwarf.
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