"Well, Mr. Underwood," said Darrell, "whatever arrangements you decide to make, I wish you success."
"No more than I do you, my boy, in anything your pig-headedness leads you into," Mr. Underwood replied, brusquely, but with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. "Confound you!" he added; "I'd help you if you'd give me a chance, but maybe it's best to let you 'gang your ain gait.'" And he walked out of the room before Darrell could reply.
A moment later he looked in at the door. "By the way, if you're not at The Pines by five o'clock sharp next Saturday afternoon, Marcia says she's going to
send an officer up here after you with a writ of habeas corpus, or something of the sort."
"All right; I'll be there," Darrell laughed.
"You'll find the old place a bit brighter than you've seen it yet, for we had a letter from Puss this morning that she'll be home to-morrow."
With the last words the door closed and Darrell was left alone with his thoughts, to which, however, he could then give little time. But when the day's work was done he went for a stroll, and, seating himself upon a large rock, carefully reviewed the situation.
Hitherto he had given little thought to the impending trouble at the camp, supposing it would affect himself but slightly; but he now realized that a suspension of operations there would mean an entire change in his mode of living. The prospective change weighed on his sensitive spirits like an incubus. Even The Pines, he dismally reflected, would no longer seem the same quiet, homelike retreat, since it was to be invaded and dominated by a youthful presence between whom and himself there would probably be little congeniality.
But finally telling himself that these reflections were childish, he rose as the last sunset rays were sinking behind the western ranges and the rosy flush on the summits was fading, and, walking swiftly to his room, resolutely buried himself in his studies.