"No, sir, she didn't scold--that is, not exactly," he said, sniffing.
"She just talked to me, sir, and then she cried something awful!"
Mr. Denton turned his head away for about a minute. There was something
in the boy's story that affected him strangely. The poor woman had wept
because her boy had stolen some money, yet rich men smiled complacently
over what they called "good bargains," but which in reality were little
more than thieving.
"How is your brother?" he asked, when he could trust himself to speak.
The boy's lips trembled and he began crying before he answered.
"He's pretty bad, sir; in the hospital," he whispered, brokenly. "They
think he'll die! You see, his sweetheart, Miss Jennings, died the very
day after I stole the money, and the two things, with his hard work,
knocked poor Fred out completely."
"Was Miss Jennings his sweetheart?" asked Mr. Denton in astonishment.
This was a phase of that horror that he had not even dreamed of.
"Oh, yes, they were sweethearts," said the boy, with a hysterical
giggle. "They was awfully in love, but they couldn't afford to get
married."
Mr. Denton rose from his desk and paced the office floor. The misery in
the situation was even blacker than he had realized.
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