"
"I understand, sir," returned the still smiling George. And from that
moment until Homer T. Ward should open the door, nothing short of a
regiment could have interrupted the interview between Auntie Sue and her
old pupil.
Placing the dear old lady tenderly in a deep, leather-upholstered chair,
Mr. Ward stood before her as though trying to convince himself that
she was real; while his teacher of those long-ago, boyhood days gazed
smilingly up at him.
"What in the name of all that is unexpected are you doing here, Auntie
Sue?" he demanded; "and why is not Betty Jo with you? Isn't the girl
ever coming home? There is nothing the matter with her, is there? Of
course not, or you would have wired me."
It was not at all like the bank president to ask so many questions all
at once.
Auntie Sue looked around the private office curiously, then smilingly
back to the face of the financier.
"Do you know, Homer," she said with her chuckling little laugh,
"I--I--am almost afraid of you in here. Everything is so grand and
rich-looking; and there were so many men out there who tried to tell me
you would not see me. I--I am glad I didn't know it would be like this,
or I fear I never could have found the courage to come."
Homer T. Ward laughed, and then--rather full-waisted as he was--went
down on one knee at the arm of her chair so as to bring his face level
with her eyes.
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