"You can, Clara,--you know you can," he answered quickly. "You can
give me more help than the ghost of Franklin himself. I don't mind the
hard work, and the worry wouldn't amount to anything if only--if only--"
he stopped, as Clara shook her head.

"George, you know I have told you again and again--"

"But Clara," he broke in,--"I wouldn't in any way interfere with your
church work. I'd even go with you every Sunday, and you could pay the
preacher as much as you liked. Don't you see, dear, it couldn't possibly
make any difference?"

"You don't understand, George," she answered, "and I can't make you
see it; there's no use talking, I _can't_, until you change your ideas
about--"

The door opened and a weary, hungry, unshaven face looked in.--The
door opened wider and a figure came shuffling timidly toward the man
and girl.

"What do you want?" said Udell, gruffly, a little put out at such an
interruption.

"Are you the foreman of this office?" said the newcomer.

"Yes, I'm the boss."

"Do you need any help? I'm a printer."