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"I wrote the Guardian agent at Robbinsville on the same day you visited the office, but I've had nothing to report until to-day." "And have you now? What is it?" "This morning I received a letter from our agent.
All the same, they deal with facts, and facts can be more tragic than any romantic fiction ever produced. This case I speak of was simply the story of a harness maker who lived in Robbinsville, a small town up in the center of New York State.
Do you know," he said, "I felt as though I'd like to write a check for fifteen hundred dollars and send it to that old harness maker up in Robbinsville, just to give him one more chance." He turned at the touch of a light hand on his arm. "I'd like to go halves with you," said a voice which Helen's Boston acquaintances would hardly have recognized as hers. "It's a go," said Smith.
If I am ever anywhere near Robbinsville, I shall make a point to see him and tell him." "Why, I had nothing to do with it!" said the girl. "It was entirely your plan I merely said I'd go halves with you." "Yes. But I would really have never done anything by myself," Smith replied frankly. "And for a very good reason.
But in any event the old man would be much more interested in thinking it was you." "If I am ever in Robbinsville, I shall see that he knows the real facts," said Miss Maitland, with a slight flush in her cheeks. "Here is Twenty-third Street," the underwriter said abruptly. "Where are you bound for, if I may ask?" "Nowhere in particular," the girl answered. She stopped.
"Some day, when I get to be so valuable or valueless that I can be spared from the Guardian, we will go and see the lights of all the other cities of the world. Shall we?" "There will be none like yours like ours." "As there are no lights for me like those within your eyes." "But I thought we were going to Robbinsville!" said the girl, "to see a harness shop."
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