The Candy Man, taking the latch key from his trembling fingers, opened the door, and ignoring the evident expectation conveyed in his renewed thanks, continued to assert authority, supporting the invalid into his library.  “I shall not leave you alone until you are relieved,” he said.

Again Mr. Knight submitted to his captor’s will, and lying back in his arm-chair directed him to the restorative that was prescribed for these seizures.  When it had been administered he lay quiet with closed eyes.

The Candy Man now turned his attention to the fire, which had burned low, coaxing it skilfully out of its sullen apathy.  He was brushing up tidily, when Mr. Knight, to whose face the colour was returning, spoke.

“You are very kind,” he said, adding as the Candy Man felt his pulse and nodded his satisfaction, “are you a physician?”

“No,” was the smiling answer.  “Merely something of a nurse.  My father was an invalid for some years.”

The sick man said “Ah!” his eyes resting, perhaps a little wistfully, upon the vigorous young fellow before him.  “Don’t let me keep you,” he added.  “I am quite relieved, and my housekeeper will return very shortly from church.”

Instead of leaving him the Candy Man sat down.  “I have nothing to do this evening, Mr. Knight, and unless you turn me out forcibly I mean to stay with you till some member of your household comes in.”

“I fear my strength is hardly equal to turning you out,” the Miser replied with a smile.  “You are most kind.”  Then after a pause he added apologetically:  “Will you kindly tell me your name?  Your face is familiar, but my memory is at fault.”

“My name is Reynolds, Robert Reynolds, and I am at present conducting a candy wagon on the Y.M.C.A. corner.  That is where you have seen me.”  He had no mind to sail under false colours again.

The sick man’s “Indeed!” was spoken with careful courtesy, but his surprise was plain enough.

The Candy Man leaned forward, an arm on his crossed knee; his eyes met those of the older man frankly.  “It is not my chosen profession,” he said.  “I happened to be free to follow any chance impulse, and the opportunity offered to help in this way a friend in need.  It may have been foolish.  I am alone in the world, and entirely unacquainted here.  I should not care for the permanent job, but there’s more in it than you would suppose.  More enjoyment, I mean.”

“I recall now you mentioned the Little Red Chimney,” said Mr. Knight.

The Candy Man grew red.  Why had he been so imprudent?  The Miser’s memory certainly might be worse.

“And now I know why your face is so familiar,” the invalid went on.  “I sat opposite to you in the car going to the park one Sunday morning.  My physician prescribes fresh air.  And later I saw you with that bright-faced young girl, Miss Bentley.  You were talking together in the pavilion near the river.  You both seemed exceedingly merry.  I envied you.  I seemed to realise how old and lonely I am.  I think I envied you her friendship.”