CHAPTER III GOOD NEWS
"Will you have some more of this roast beef, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul, doing the honors for Dick, who was busy over the letter from his father.
"Wa'al, I might have a bit more. It seems like pretty tender meat."
"Yes, we get the very best at Kentfield."
"Hum! If I was runnin' this place I'd buy the cheaper cuts, and save money. Tough meat is better for growing lads, anyhow. I wouldn't give 'em such expensive meat."
"But we pay for it, Mr. Larabee."
"It's a waste of money," replied the miser, and went on with the meal, which, to do Dick justice, was exceptionally good. Dick never believed in starving even his ill-natured relatives.
"Hurray! This is great!" suddenly exclaimed the young millionaire. "Whoop! Oh, I say, excuse me, Uncle Ezra!" he added, quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you," for the aged man had jumped at Dick's exclamation, and some potato, covered with gravy, had fallen on his trousers.
"That's jest like you boys—allers shoutin' and makin' a noise," rasped out Mr. Larabee. "I'll have to pay for havin' that spot taken out," and he scrubbed vigorously at it with a napkin. "That is, unless my hired man can start it with some of my harness soap. I guess I'll have him try when I get back. No use payin' a cleaner if my hired man can do it."
"I'm sorry, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick, contritely, and trying not to smile at Paul Drew. "We can take it out here for you. A little ether will do the trick. It will dissolve the grease. I'll take you to the chemical laboratory after lunch."
"No, the ether might eat a hole in my pants, and they're my second best ones. I'll wait until I git hum, and try the harness soap. Next time please don't yell so."
"I won't, Uncle Ezra. But dad sent me some good news, and I just couldn't help it."
"Is he going to take you to Europe this vacation?" asked Paul.
"Europe! You don't mean to tell me that Mortimer Hamilton is going to waste money on another trip to Europe?" cried Mr. Larabee, in horror.
"No, it isn't that," answered Dick. "He writes that as he sees by my reports I have done well this term, I may have just what I've been wanting a long time."
"To go into some business, I hope," said Mr. Larabee. "That would be a sensible present, and I could offer you a place in my woolen mill at a salary of——"
"No, thank you, Uncle Ezra," laughed Dick. "I think I'll stay here at Kentfield for another term yet."
"But what is it your father is going to give you?" asked Paul. "Don't keep us in suspense."
"It's a touring car!" cried Dick, in delight. "He says I can select the best and biggest car made, and send the bill to him. Hurray! Isn't that great news? Say, I can just about see where my vacation is coming in now, Paul."
"That's right. You are in luck!"
"A touring car!" cried Mr. Larabee. "You mean an automobile, Dick? Why you've got one already. It would be a shameful waste of money to buy another. You can take what a touring car would cost, and invest the sum in some good securities. I have some that I acquired from that young man I spoke of to-day."
"I haven't a touring car," said Dick. "I have that little runabout; but it isn't much use. A touring car for mine!"
"Oh, the sinful waste of this rising generation!" murmured Uncle Ezra, shaking his head, sadly.
"What kind of a car is he going to give you, Dick?" asked Paul.
"He says I can pick it out myself. I'll read you that part of the letter," and Dick quoted from the missive:
"'I have been thinking of something you might like, Dick, as a sort of reward for your good work at school this winter. I know you have studied hard. I had a man come here to look over your runabout, thinking perhaps it could be fixed up, but he says it is hardly worth it. He advised trading it in for a new and up-to-date machine, and I think that best myself.
"'I want you to be satisfied with what I get you, and I think the best way would be to let you pick it out yourself. So if you will look over some catalogues, which you can send for yourself, and let me know the make of car, I will attend to the rest'"
"That's great!" cried Paul.
"A terrible waste!" muttered Mr. Larabee. "Sinful!"
"Good old dad!" exclaimed Dick, as he put the letter in his pocket. "I wonder what sort of a car I ought to take?"
"One that you can cross the country in," advised Paul.
"That's what I'll do—I'll get a big touring car, and take some of you fellows with me. We'll have a great and glorious trip this summer!"
"More waste! You would much better get work somewhere, Dick, and pay part of your expenses here," declared Mr. Larabee.
"My mother arranged all that before she died," said the young cadet. "She wanted me to attend a military school, and left the funds for it. My tuition is all paid for."
"Well, my sister never did know what she was doing," declared Mr. Larabee, bitterly.
"Hold on!" exclaimed Dick, hotly. "Remember that she was my mother," and he spoke the word softly, for she had not been dead many years.
"Ahem! Wa'al, I didn't mean anything," stammered Mr. Larabee. "Say, I've got to hustle to get my train," he added, quickly, looking at an ancient silver watch, which he pulled out of his pocket by means of a leather thong. "Come and see us at Dankville, Nephew Richard. Your aunt will be glad to have you, but you can't expect such meals as this," he went on hastily. "You know she has the dyspepsia, and she can't eat much, so I don't buy much. But come and see us."
Dick mumbled something not quite distinguishable, and the meal came to an end.
"I guess I'll just take some of this meat that's left over, and make myself a couple of sandwiches," said Mr. Larabee, suiting the action to the word. "No use in letting it go to waste," he added. "And I might get hungry before we get to Dankville. This will save me buying anything on the train," and wrapping up the sandwiches in a piece of newspaper he thrust them into his pocket.
"Thank goodness I didn't take him to one of the tables with the fellows!" whispered Dick, as he winked at Paul. "He sure is the limit!"
"This way to the trolley that goes to the depot," said Dick, as he escorted his uncle across the parade ground, Paul having excused himself.
"I'm not going to take the trolley, Nephew Richard. I have plenty of time to walk the distance, and there is no use wasting five cents. It is grass most of the way, and I won't wear out my shoes none to speak of. I'm going to walk."
"All right," assented Dick, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Good-bye. I'd go with you, but we have guard mount soon, and I'm officer of the day."
"Foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted Mr. Larabee, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "You had better think twice about wasting money on that touring car, too, Nephew Richard. Don't take it—take the money and invest it."
"I would rather have the car, Uncle Ezra. Remember me to Aunt Samanthy."
"Um!" mumbled Mr. Larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the railroad. A trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the station, but he did not signal for it to stop.
"He's happy," mused Dick. "He didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. Oh, he's happy all right. But, excuse me!"
Just then Grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable, came rushing out to meet his master. Then the dog caught sight of the vanishing figure of Uncle Ezra, and with a growl sprang in that direction.
"Here! Come back, Grit!" yelled Dick. "Come back!"
The bulldog paused. Mr. Larabee looked back. The temptation was too much for the animal. He made another rush.
"Call him back! Call him back!" yelled Mr. Larabee, breaking into a run. "If he bites me, Nephew Richard, I'll sue your father for damages! Call him back!"
"Grit!" called the cadet, and the dog knew the consequences of disobeying that voice. Reluctantly he turned, but he sent menacing growls and barks in the direction of his traditional enemy. Mr. Larabee was still running as Dick turned back toward the parade ground, with Grit following reluctantly.
"Grit, have you no manners?" asked Dick, but he could not help smiling. The dog wagged his tail, as though answering that he had not, and was glad of it.
Dick turned to look after his uncle, who, casting occasional fearful glances back, was hurrying toward the station. And, as Dick looked, he saw a man turn from a cross road, and meet his uncle.
The two stopped at the same time, and the stranger seemed to be questioning Mr. Larabee. If such was the case he got little satisfaction, for Dick's uncle could be seen to shake his head vigorously in disapproval, and then, with a gesture, to dismiss the other. The stranger hesitated a moment, and soon turned away.
"He looks just like the man Paul and I met on the railroad," mused Dick. "The one Paul said acted as if he was going to commit suicide. I wonder what he wanted of Uncle Ezra?"
But Dick was not to know that for some time.