THE RED CANDLE
was a busy little mother, and she did not approve of Ostrander. She did not approve of any human being who would not work.
"A merry Christmas," he said to her, standing somewhat wistfully above her on the stairs. She smiled at that. "Oh, Mr. Tony, Mr. Tony, they want a man in the shop. It would be a good way to begin the New Year."
"Dear lady, I have never worked in a shop—and they wouldn't want me after the first minute"
Her puzzled eyes studied him. "Why wouldn't they want you?"
"I am not—dependable"
"How old are you?" she asked abruptly.
"Twice your age"
"Nonsense"
"Not in years, perhaps—but I have lived—oh, how I have lived!"
He straightened his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. She had a sudden vision of what he might be if shorn of his poverty. There was something debonair—finished—an almost youthful grace—a hint of manner
She sighed. "Oh, the waste of it!"
"Of what?"
She flamed. "Of you!"
Then she went in and shut the door.
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