Chick went on down the street toward the Barriscale plant, but he did not enter it. It was within a quarter of an hour of quitting time anyway; so he hung around in the neighborhood until the men came out, hundreds of them, and, separating into groups, entered the four streets that converged upon the plaza fronting the mills. His quick eye detected young Lewis in the crowd, in company with a fellow employee, and, walking a few rods in the rear, he trailed along after them. It was not until half a dozen or more blocks had been covered that the two young men separated, and the one whom Chick sought went on alone. He walked rapidly and it was no light task for the boy with the physical handicap to overtake him. But he did overtake him eventually, and, half out of breath, shuffled along beside him. The young man, seeing who his companion was, made no show, either of pleasure or displeasure. He looked anxious and worried, as though his mind was absorbed in the thought of some impending misfortune. “Oh, is that you, Chick?” he said quietly. “Going my way?” “Yes, for a block or two,” wheezed the boy. “Thought you might like to have company.” “Sure! Come along! Am I walking a little too fast for you?” “Oh, I guess I can keep up all right.” But the young man slowed down in his gait, nevertheless, and made it easier for the boy to keep alongside. For a little while after that neither of them spoke, Chick because he had not yet recovered sufficient breath, and Lewis because he was not in the mood for talking. It was Chick who at last broke the silence. “Lemme see!” said he, “your name’s Alfred, ain’t it? They call you Fred; but your right name’s Alfred, ain’t it?” “Yes. Why?” The young man seemed to evince little curiosity, and to ask the question more as a matter of form than because of a desire to seek information. “Oh, nothin’ much,” replied Chick. “Only, if you was, now, writin’ a letter, say to a girl, you’d sign your name Alfred, I s’pose?” Young Lewis awakened out of his apparent lethargy and glanced down curiously at the boy who was, with some effort, keeping up with him. “Why, I suppose so,” he said. “What do you want to know for?” Chick did not reply to the question, but, after a habit he had, he asked another one instead. “And if you was writin’ to any girl, you’d most likely be writin’ to a girl name o’ Rachael, I s’pose?” The young fellow stopped suddenly, faced sharply toward the boy, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look here, Chick!” he exclaimed; “have you found anything?” “Me? Found anything?” repeated Chick, in apparent surprise. “Yes; a letter, or anything like that?” “Why, have you lost one?” “Chick! Don’t keep me in suspense! If you’ve found my letter, tell me. I’ve worried myself pretty nearly into my grave over it, already.” “I ast you, have you lost a letter?” Chick was very resolute and determined. “Yes,” was the equally resolute reply, “I’ve lost one. Have you found it?”