"I'm banking on the chance that I shall know him some day." Rod's eyes lighted. He remembered the words of his old professor, "To work under Breckenridge is not only an advantage to any engineer. It is an education in itself."
It was nearly six o'clock when their last callers arrived. They were not an interesting carriage load: a gaunt, silent, middle-aged man; a sallow-cheeked young woman, in cheap, showy clothes, her rough hands glittering with gaudy rings; and a six-year-old girl--a pitiful little ghost of a girl--who looked like a frail little shadow against Sally Lou's lusty, rosy two-year-old son. Her warped, tiny body in its forlorn lace-trimmed pink silk dress was braced in pillows in her mother's arms. Her dim black eyes stared listlessly with the indifference of long suffering.
Marian was always shaken and repelled by the sight of pain. But by this time Thomas Tucker was awake and loudly demanding his mother; so Marian must do her shrinking best, to make the new-comers feel themselves welcomed.
"No, Mamie she don't drink lemonade. No, she don't want no milk, neither. We'll just set here in the cool and rest a while till pappy gets through lookin' around." The young, tired mother sat down on the little pier. She settled the wan little creature carefully into her arms again. "No, there's nothing you can get for her; nothing at all."
"Doesn't she like to look at pictures? I have some new magazines," ventured Marian.
"She does like pictures once in a while. Want to see what the lady's got for you, Mamie?"
Mamie roused herself and looked silently at the books that Marian piled before her. Bent on pleasing the little wraith, Marian cut out several lovely ladies, and on a sudden inspiration added rosy cheeks from Rod's tray of colored pencils.
Those red and blue and purple pencils caught Mamie's listless eye. She even bestirred herself to try and draw a portrait or so with her own shaky little fingers.
"Beats all," sighed her mother. A little pleased color rose in her cheeks. "I haven't seen her take such an interest for months. Not even in her dollies. We buy her all the playthings we can think of. Her pappy, he don't ever go to town without he up and brings her a whole grist of candy and toys and clutter. But we never once thought of the pencils for her. Nor of paper dolls, either. My, I'm glad we stopped by. And her pappy, he'll be more pleased than words can tell. He's always so heart-set for Mamie to have a little fun."