She had won fame and
money, but what did they amount to when her only boy was a stranger to
her, and knew not what it was to love his mother?
"You write to her, I suppose," she at last remarked.
"Oh, yes. Every week I get a letter, and I always answer it. She
sends me money, too."
"Does she? Isn't that nice. You must have plenty of spending money,
then."
"No," and Rod shook his head. "Grandad puts it all into the bank for
me. It is to stay there, so he says, until I grow up, and it will be
enough then to send me to college."
"And your grandfather never used any of the money your mother sent to
pay for your board and clothing?"
"Not a cent of it. He said it wouldn't be right, because he loves me
so much."
The woman remained silent for some time, and Rod thought that her face
seemed very sad. Perhaps she was tired.
"Guess we'd better go now, Phil," and he turned to his companion who
had not opened his lips once.
"What, so soon?" the singer enquired, rousing from her reverie.
"Yes. Mr. Dexter, he's Phil's father, will be waiting for us, and
he'll think we are lost."
"Just a minute, Rod," and the woman laid her hand lightly on his
shoulder, "how would you like to go with me in the car to Hillcrest
tomorrow?"
Rod's eyes sparkled for an instant with pleasure.
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