He sauntered up to the desk and in a voice of affected unconcern inquired, “Can you tell me where the man Hastings lives?”
“Are you interested in him?” asked the clerk, smilingly.
“Yes, somewhat. He looked so sad and woebegone. I might perhaps help him to a position if I could have a conversation with him and judge of his abilities.”
“Oh, his abilities are good, but his intemperate habits are so fixed that I would not advise you to recommend him.”
“At any rate I can give him a dollar, and I suppose that will be acceptable to him.”
“It will be a godsend. You will find that he won’t refuse it. As to where he lives I can’t readily direct you, but here is a little fellow,” pointing to a colored boy who had just entered, “who will be glad to show you. Here, Johnny, do you want to earn a dime?”
“Don’t I just?” returned the boy, showing the whites of his eyes.
“Then show this young man the way to Tom Hastings’s house.”
Gerald followed the boy along the street for about twenty rods; then down a side street, till he reached a shabby, two-story house, dismantled and with the paint worn off in spots.
“That’s where he lives, boss,” said the boy.
Gerald hesitated a moment at the gate and then walked in. He was considering how he should introduce himself.
Thomas Hastings himself answered the knock on the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves. There was a beard of nearly a week’s growth on his cheeks, and he looked as neglected as the tenement which he occupied. He eyed Gerald in some surprise, and waited for him to mention his business.
“Are you Mr. Thomas Hastings?” asked the young visitor.
“Are you acquainted with Bradley Wentworth of Seneca, Illinois?”
“Yes, do you come from him?” asked Hastings, eagerly.
“No, but I would like to talk with you about him. May I come in?”
Hastings looked backward, and the disordered rooms struck him with a sudden sense of shame.
“No,” he said, “we can talk better outside. Wait a minute and I’ll be with you.”
“NOW, what have you to say about Bradley Wentworth?” asked Hastings abruptly, as they walked slowly up the road.
“First, let me ask you how long you have known him?”
“How long have I known him? Before you were born, youngster—a matter of twenty years, I should say.”