"Go'n have good nap now"
"Could he--couldn't he?"
At every station the conductor and Rex had to reason with him
A GOOD SAMARITAN
The little District Telegraph boy, with a dirty face, stood at the edge
of the desk, and, rubbing his sleeve across his cheek, made it
unnecessarily dirtier.
"Answer, sir?"
"No--yes--wait a minute." Reed tore the yellow envelope and spread the
telegram. It read:
"Do I meet you at your office or at Martin's and what time?"
"The devil!" Reed commented, and the boy blinked indifferently. He was
used to stronger. "The casual Rex all over! Yes, boy, there's an
answer." He scribbled rapidly, and the two lines of writing said this:
"Waiting for you at office now. Hurry up. C. Reed."
He fumbled in his pocket and gave the youngster a coin. "See that it's
sent instantly--like lightning. Run!" and the sharp little son of New
York was off before the last word was well out.
Half an hour later, to Reed waiting at his office in Broadway
impatiently, there strolled in a good-looking and leisurely young man
with black clothes on his back and peace and good-will on his face.
"Hope I haven't kept you waiting, Carty," he remarked in friendly tones.
"Plenty of time, isn't there?"
"No, there isn't," his cousin answered, and there was a touch of snap in
the accent. "Really, Rex, you ought to grow up and be responsible. It
was distinctly arranged that you should call here for me at six, and now
it's a quarter before seven.
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