He was longing intensely for his godfather's arrival, and it seemed such
a long time off to Friday. A photograph of Radmore, in uniform, sent him
at his own request two years ago, was the boy's most precious personal
possession. Timmy was a careful, almost uncannily thrifty child, with
quite a lot of money in the Savings Bank, but he had taken out 10/- in
order to buy a frame for the photograph, and it rested, alone in its
glory, on the top of the chest of drawers that stood opposite his bed.
There had been a time when Timmy had hoped that he would grow up to
look like his godfather, but now he was aware that this hope would
never be fulfilled, for Radmore, in this photograph, at any rate, had
a strongly-featured, handsome face, very unlike what his mother had once
called "Timmy's wizened little phiz."
It seemed strange to care for a person you had never seen since you were
a tiny child--but there it was! To Timmy everything that touched his
godfather was of far greater moment than he would have admitted to
anyone. Radmore was his secret hero; and now, to-night, he asked himself
painfully, why had his hero left off loving Betty? The story he had
overheard this afternoon had deeply impressed him.
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