"James," said the first citizen hoarsely, "go to bed!"
"Aw," said James softly, "make it Jimsy. Aunt Judith did. I ain't no stiff wit' spinach an' buttons chasin' newsies off the porch."
"Jimsy!" said the first citizen faintly, and felt his world rock about him again. For fate and Jimsy, it was very plain, had filed the word away with the biscuit.
Jimsy's grin was radiant. Upset, Mr. Sawyer turned back to his bench with Jimsy at his heels.
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy," breathed the boy in an ecstasy of admiration. "Makin' a Christmas present fur Aunt Judith on the sly, ain't ye? Won't she jus' open her eyes! _I_ bet! And polishin' the wood yerself. Gee!"
"Mrs. Sawyer and I," said he, "do--not--exchange--gifts--at Christmas. This cabinet is for my private office at the bank."
"Aw," he said gently, "seems like ye'd orta give her sumthin' fur Christmas. She's so awful good.... B'long to the union?"
"Carpentering with me," he explained stiffly, "is a fad--not an occupation or a necessity. I," he added "am President of the Lindon Bank."
Jimsy's glance was sympathetic. It regretted the world's gain of a bank president at the expense of a better carpenter.
"I kin plane," he pleaded eagerly. "Honest Injun, I kin. I kin whittle too, like ol' Scratch. Lemme plane this--"
"I thank you," began Mr. Sawyer coldly, with unfortunate selection of words, "but--" His voice faltered under Jimsy's shining gaze. For, reading in the formal repudiation a vote of thanks, Jimsy had seized a plane and set to work.
The shavings flew. The clock ticked loudly in the quiet. Outside a winter blizzard was sweeping in white fury from the hills. Stump crouched silently in a corner, his head upon his paws. And Abner Sawyer, returning to his work in helpless indecision, felt his privacy and his dignity forever compromised by a boy and a dog. He knew of course that a small boy, scantily clad, should not be planing furiously on the bench beside him at midnight with a sociable gleam in his eye--yet--something--a terrible conviction perhaps that if he spoke at all his voice would be hoarse and uncertain and his poise threatened by the paralyzing sense of apology which welled strangely up within him in Jimsy's presence, tied his tongue. The minutes ticked loudly on and the shavings flew.... And Jimsy would misinterpret whatever he said in terms of sentimentality. He always did.... The clock struck one.... Abner Sawyer rose.