A PARENT'S ANXIOUS PILGRIMAGE
wore a hopeless air. It seemed utterly out of the question for him to take this steamer, although a train connection from Wolverton would enable him to reach the wharf by four o'clock. Unreconciled to the delay, he entered the coal office and listlessly took the ledgers and journals from the safe.
His employer, an elderly Irishman with a rough tongue and a reputation more or less ungodly, halted while passing the desk and inquired:
"What's been on your mind for the last couple o' days, Mr. Goodwin? You've been hoppin' in and out of here like a distracted flea. Anything wrong with th' strappin' lad that went sailin' off to make his forthune? Has he been forgettin' to write to ye? 'Tis the way of 'em. I raised five meself."
This solicitude was unexpected, and Mr. Goodwin stammered in surprised tones:
"Why, thank you. Yes, I am greatly concerned about Walter."
"Tell me about it," demanded the other. "Has he got himself into a scrape, or can't ye get anny word from him at all?"
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