She was alone and without an escort except her father, who was often so absorbed in his work, or so tired at night, as to be of little help to her.
Moreover, his Chief had, in a way, added his daughter's care to his other duties.

"Can't you take Ruth to-night--" or "I wish you'd meet her at the ferry," or "if you are going to that dinner in New York, at so-and-so's, would you mind calling for her--" etc., etc.

Don't start, dear reader.

These two came of a breed where the night key and the daughter go together and where a chaperon would be as useless as a policeman locked inside a bank vault.
And so the boy struggled on, growing in bodily strength and mental experience, still the hero among the men for his heroic rescue of the "Boss"-- a reputation which he never lost; making friends every day both in the village and in New York and keeping them; absorbed in his slender library, and living within his means, which small as they were, now gave him two rooms at Mrs.Hicks's,--one of which he had fitted up as a little sitting-room and in which Ruth had poured the first cup of tea, her father and some of the village people being guests.
His one secret--and it was his only one--he kept locked up in his heart, even from Peter.

Why worry the dear old fellow, he had said to himself a dozen times, since nothing would ever come of it.
While all this had been going on in the house of MacFarlane, much more astonishing things had been developing in the house of Breen.
The second Mukton Lode scoop,--the one so deftly handled the night of Arthur Breen's dinner to the directors,--had somehow struck a snag in the scooping with the result that most of the "scoopings" had been spilled over the edge there to be gathered up by the gamins of the Street, instead of being hived in the strong boxes of the scoopers.