As he did so, inside the house, on the other side of the curtain, from
behind which he had been anxiously peering, Cornelius Woodbridge,
Senior, turned about and struck his hands together, rubbing them in a
satisfied way.
"He's come--and gone," he cried softly, "and he's on time to the
minute!"
Cornelius, Junior, did not so much as lift his eyes from the evening
paper, as he quietly answered, "Is he?" But the corners of his mouth
slightly relaxed. One who knew him well might have guessed that he
thought it a simple matter to risk any number of chances on a sure
thing.
The car seemed to crawl out to Kingston Heights. As it at last neared
its terminus, a strong temptation seized the boy Cyrus. He had been on a
purposeless errand to this place once that day. The corner of West and
Dwight streets lay more than half a mile from the end of the car route,
and it was an almost untenanted district. His legs were very tired; his
stomach ached with emptiness. Why not wait out the interval which it
would take to walk to the corner and back in the little suburban
station, read "Env.
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