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"I surely am!"
"But--but not in them glad rags!" and Spike pointed to Mr. Ravenslee's
exquisitely tailored garments.
"Ah--to be sure!" nodded their wearer. "We'll soon fix that," and he
touched the electric bell.
"Say," cried Spike, starting forward in sudden terror, "you--you ain't
goin' to give me away?"
"No."
"Cross your heart--hope to die, you ain't?"
"Across my heart and hope to die, I'm not--and there's my hand on it,
Spike."
"What?" exclaimed the boy, his eyes suspiciously bright, "d' you mean
you will shake--after--after what I--"
"There's my hand, Spike!" So their hands met and gripped, the boy's hot
and eagerly tremulous, the man's cool and steady and strong; then of a
sudden Spike choked and turning his back brushed away his tears with his
cap. Also at this moment, with a soft and discreet knock, Mr. Brimberly
opened the door and bowed himself into the room; his attitude was
deferential as always, his smile as respectful, but, beholding Spike,
his round eyes grew rounder and his whiskers slightly bristly.


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