His martyrdom had begun on New Year’s Day, when he had gone to meet
Frankie’s train, and Frankie had not come. He had returned for the next,
two hours later, in vain, and for all the others, until late at night.
He had eaten a wretched little supper in a cheap restaurant nearby and
gone home to bed. He was stunned; he couldn’t believe in his misfortune.
Next morning a telegram came.
“_Cannot return. Writing._ FRANKIE.”
He hadn’t a penny. He sat in his room all day waiting for the letter,
which reached him in the last mail that evening.
“My dearest boy,” she wrote, “the most dreadful thing has happened. My
sister has gone away and of course I can’t leave Grandma alone and
helpless. I am trying my best to think of some plan, but oh, Lionel, I
am so worried about you! I enclose five dollars, which is all I have. I
can’t imagine how you will make out. I have written a special delivery
to Miss Eppendorfer to send me my salary, and I will forward it to you
the instant it comes. My dear old boy! This is so miserable! Minnie has
found some sort of place for herself, and says she is going to stay
there for a year. I am thinking and thinking what I can do. Take care of
yourself, my dear.