"Look here," he said, "suppose you give me a job. I'll do my work and
earn my wages--try me and see."

There was something in his face that touched me, and I glanced at Mr.
Royce. I saw that his gruffness was merely a mantle to cloak his real
feelings; and the result was that Freddie Swain was set to work as a
copying-clerk at a salary of fifteen dollars a week. He applied
himself to his work with an energy that surprised me, and I learned
that he was taking the night-course at the University, as he had
planned. Finally, one night, I met him as I was turning in to my rooms
at the Marathon, and found that he had rented a cubby-hole on the top
floor of the building. After that, I saw him occasionally, and when
six months had passed, was forced to acknowledge that he was
thoroughly in earnest. I happened to remark to Mr. Royce one day that
Swain seemed to be making good.

"Yes," my partner agreed; "I didn't think he had it in him. He had a
rude awakening from his dream of affluence, and it seems to have done
him good."

But, somehow, I had fancied that it was from more than a dream of
affluence he had been awakened; and now, as I sat staring at this
letter, I began to understand dimly what the other dream had been.

The first thing was to get the letter into his hands, for I was
certain that it was a cry for help. I glanced at my watch and saw that
it was nearly half past twelve. Swain, I knew, would be at lunch, and
was not due at the office until one o'clock. Slipping the letter into
my pocket, I turned back to the house, and found Mrs. Hargis standing
on the front porch.