It was true, what the child had said.  He had few friends—­that is, friends in the sense the child meant.  Of acquaintances he had many, very many.  At his club, in business, in a rather limited social set, he knew a number of people well, but friends—­If he were to die to-morrow his going would occasion but the usual comment he had often heard concerning others.  Some years ago he had found himself continually entertaining what he called his friends, spending foolish sums of money on costly dinners, and quite suddenly he had quit.  As long as he entertained he was entertained in return, and for some time after he stopped he still received invitations of many sorts, but in cynical realization of the unsatisfactoriness of his manner of life he had given it up, and in its place had come nothing to answer the hunger of his heart for comradeship and human cheer.  His opinion of life had become unhealthy.  As an experience for which one is not primarily responsible it had to be endured, but out of it he had gotten little save what men called success; and that, he had long since found, though sweet in the pursuit, was bitter in achievement if there was no one who cared—­and for his nobody really cared.  This blind man with the shabby clothes and ill-nourished body was richer than he.  He had a child who loved him and whom he loved.

“It is true what your little girl has told you.”  Van Landing took off his glasses and wiped them.  “I have no one to make Christmas for, and if you don’t mind I wish you would let me go with you to the shops to-night.  I don’t know much about Christmas buying.  My presents are chiefly given in mon——­I mean I don’t know any little children.”

“And I know forty billion!” Carmencita’s arms were outstretched and her hands came together with ecstatic emphasis.  “If I didn’t stop to blink my eyes between now and Christmas morning I couldn’t buy fast enough to fill all the stockings of the legs I know if I had the money to buy with.  There’s Mrs. McTarrens’s four, and the six Blickers, and the ashman’s eight, and the Roysters, and little Sallie Simcoe, and old Mr. Jenkinson, and Miss Becky who mends pants and hasn’t any front teeth, and Mr. Leimberg.  I’d get him specs.  He has to hold his book like this”—­and the palms of two little red hands were held close to Carmencita’s eyes.  “Oh, Father, please let him go!”

Hesitating, the blind man’s eyes were again upturned, and again Van Landing spoke.

“You are right to be careful; but you need not fear.  My name is Van Landing, and my office—­”

“You are a gentleman!” Two hands with their long slender fingers were outstretched, and swiftly they stroked Van Landing’s arms and body and face.  “Your voice, your hands, tell me your class, and your clothes that you have money.  Why—­oh, why do you want to go with us?” Quickly his right hand drew his child toward him, and in terror he pressed her to his side.  “She is my all, my light, my life!  Away from her I am in darkness you could not understand.  No, you must not go with us.  You must go away and leave us!”