A Poor Wise Man
Going home that night Mr. Hendricks met Edith Boyd, and accompanied her for a
block or two. At his corner he stopped.
"How's your mother, Edith?"
It was Mr. Hendricks' business to know his ward thoroughly.
"About the same. She isn't really sick, Mr. Hendricks. She's just low spirited, but
that's enough. I hate to go home."
"Still, home's a pretty good place," he said. "Especially for a pretty girl." There
was unmistakable meaning in his tone, and she threw up her head.
"I've got to get some pleasure out of life, Mr. Hendricks."
"Sure you have," he agreed affably. "But playing around with Louis Akers is like
playing with a hand-grenade, Edith." She said nothing. "I'd cut him out, little girl.
He's poor stuff. Mind, I'm not saying he's a fool, but he's a bad actor. Now if I was
a pretty girl, and there was a nice fellow around like this Cameron, I'd be likely to
think he was all right. He's got brains." Mr. Hendricks had a great admiration for
"I'm sick of men."
He turned at her tone and eyed her sharply.
"Well, don't judge them all by Akers. This is my corner. Good-night. Not afraid to
go on by yourself, are you?"
"If I ever was I've had a good many chances to get over it."
He turned the corner, but stopped and called after her.
"Tell Dan I'll be in to see him soon, Edith. Haven't seen him since he came back