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He stooped to swing the big safe door shut and then remembered something else. What was it his father had said about papers in the safe? He ought to have looked them over earlier in the evening. How careless of him to have gone to the city and left the safe unlocked. But then, Joe, who had stayed behind, was of course perfectly trustworthy. Dad always trusted Joe utterly. But it was careless nevertheless.
Papers? Yes, now he remembered. The deed to the lots in the city. Well, he should have taken those with him of course. If there had been a chance of selling, he would have needed them. Yes, and the Westbrook Securities. And the insurance papers. Of course! And what were these?
He drew out an envelope and opened one of the crisp, crackling documents, drawing his brows in a frown. The other papers lay beside him on the floor.
Suddenly, a noise behind him startled him, and he glanced up.
There was a window behind the desk that furnished light in the daytime, and its shade was stretched high, for Joe had been reading a novel late in the afternoon and wanted all the light he could get. Instinctively Alan looked toward the window where the sound had come. Was that a face he had seen, vanishing as he looked up, or were his nerves getting on edge? Nerves, of course. Who would want to look in at a back window of the hardware store at this time of night? It opened on a back alley. Nevertheless it was careless to work at the safe so near to an open window. He reached up and drew the shade down with a snap and then turned back to his papers, lying in a heap on the floor in a little pool of bright light from the drop lamp, their titles standing out clearly. Anyone looking in the window could easily have read them. But, of course, there had been no one looking in. Should he take those papers home with him now and get acquainted with them? Perhaps that would be a good idea. Or would they be safer here behind a time lock? Safer? Why, they were safe enough anywhere, weren’t they? What were they anyway? Of course he ought to know what was under his care. Or would it be time enough for that tomorrow? He was late now for his tryst with Bob. He must go at once.
When he had turned out the lights and locked the door, he glanced back uneasily, as an inexperienced nurse might look anxiously at the sleeping infant placed in her care, and wondered if he had done everything that was usually done at night in leaving the store.
Then his mind switched ahead to Bob and the Bible, and Sherrill. Great girl, Sherrill. She was not just an ordinary girl. Not just a girl! She was as good as a fellow in some ways. A real comrade.
Bob met him at the corner.
“I thought I’d wait for you here,” he said, “and not disturb the house for two incomings.”
“That was thoughtful of you, kid!” said Alan. “I say, old man, I’ve been thinking all day how tough it’s going to be to lose you now, just as I’ve found you.”
“Same here!” said Bob. “I’ve been kicking myself all over the place all day that I’ve been such a fool as not to know what a prince of a fellow you are.”
Arm in arm they walked up the street, cementing a friendship quickly ripened over the ashes of a dead hatred.
As they swung into the street where Alan lived, a car drew up at the MarFarland house, and someone leaned out and signaled.
“That you, Mac?” called Keith Washburn. “Here’s a package Sherrill sent over. Evening, Bob.”
“Thanks awfully, Keith. Won’t you come in?” said Alan, taking the package.
“Wish I could, Mac, but I’m on my way over to West Grove. Just got a wire from a man I’ve been wanting to see for some time, and he’s taking the midnight train, so I’m hot foot to get there to ask him a few questions before he leaves. How about going with me, both of you? I’d be awfully glad of company.”
“Sorry, Keith, but Bob is leaving in the morning, and we’ve got some things to do before he goes.”
“Oh, yes, Sherrill told me about it. Great chance, Bob. Wouldn’t mind being in your boots. Dig up a few kings and buried cities for me, won’t you? Hope you have a wonderful time. We’ll think about you. Let us know how you’re coming on now and then. Well, sorry you can’t go with me. So long!”
Bob looked after the car wistfully. Somehow the hometown and the home folks had suddenly taken on a friendly look they had never shown before.
“I like him,” he said suddenly, as if he were thinking aloud.
“He certainly is a prince of a fellow,” said Alan, as he got out his latchkey.
The boys went quietly upstairs to Alan’s room and sat down to talk. As they turned on the light, they saw a big pitcher of milk and a plate of sandwiches and cake.
“Draw up and let’s have a bite,” said Alan. “My mother thinks I haven’t eaten supper evidently.”
“Is that the kind of thing mothers do?” Bob said wistfully. “Good night! And you wanted to go for dessert! Well, if I had a mother like that, I don’t know but I’d turn the job over to some other fellow, too.”
“Say,” said Alan thoughtfully, “you begin to make me think I haven’t been half appreciative of my lot.”
When they had cleared the plates and finished the milk, Alan reached for the package and untied it.
“This,” he said, as he opened the box, “is for you, Bob. It’s from the bunch. They want you to take it with you. Think you’ve got room to carry it?”
He felt just the least bit embarrassed now that he had begun. He was not quite sure how Bob would take the gift of a Bible. Perhaps after all, as Sherrill had suggested, he might resent it. He had the name of not caring much for religion or churches.
“For me?” said Bob with pleased surprise. “From the bunch? Say, what have you been saying to them? The bunch never cared a red cent for me.”
“That’s all you know about it, Bob,” said Alan. “And I haven’t said a word to them. It was all cooked up by the bunch. Sherrill Washburn is president, you know, this year, and she called me up awhile ago and asked if I thought you would mind their giving it to you.”
“Mind?” said Bob. “Indeed I do mind. I mind so much that I’ll carry it all the way in my hands if there isn’t any other place for it. What is it?”
“That’s it, Bob. I guess maybe they thought it wasn’t quite in your line. They didn’t know but you might like something else better. You see, it’s—a Bible!”
Alan stripped off the confining paper and handed over the beautifully bound Scofield Bible.
The other boy took it with a look of awe and reverence that astonished MacFarland. He held it in his hand a moment and felt of its covers, opened it and noted its suppleness, its gold edges, its fine paper, its clear print, and then looked down for an instant, almost as if he were going to cry.
“I’ve never had a Bible,” he said huskily at last, “but I’ll see to it hereafter that it’s in my line. I sure am grateful.”
“I think they’ve written something in the front,” said Alan to cover his own deep feeling. He reached over and turned the pages back to the flyleaf where it was inscribed.
To Robert Fulton Lincoln with the best wishes of his friends of the West Avenue Young People’s Group.
There followed a long string of autographs, most of them belonging to Robert Lincoln’s former schoolmates, and at the bottom in small script, 2 Timothy 2:15.
“Here, I’ve got to get my name in that space they left there,” said Alan, getting out his fountain pen. “You see, I happen to be vice president of that bunch and hence the space.”
Bob watched him write his name, and a strange half-embarrassed silence filled the room till it was