His blue Norfolk suit and his carefully
chosen cap and linen restored a little of the adolescent look of which
the flashy clothing of his own choosing had robbed him. No one glanced
askance at Mr. Seaton's protege or asked the lawyer idle questions
regarding him.
And yet Nucky was very seldom out of John Seaton's thoughts: Over and
over he tried to get the boy into conversation only to be checked by a
reply that was half sullen, half impertinent. Finally, the lawyer fell
back on surmises. Was Nucky laying some deep scheme for mischief when
they reached San Francisco? John had believed fully that he and Nucky
would be friends before Chicago was passed. But he had been mistaken.
What in the world was he to do with the young gambler in San Francisco,
that paradise of gamblers? He could employ a detective to dog Nucky,
but that was to acknowledge defeat. If there were only some place
along the line where he could leave the boy, giving him a taste of out
of door life, such as only the west knows!
For a long time Seaton turned this idea over in his mind. The train
was pulling out of Albuquerque when he had a sudden inspiration. He
knew Nucky too well by now to ask him for information or for an
expression of opinion.
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