Bob went on to explain that his money had given out and that he had to work in order to get together enough to pay his fare out to the West and also to board himself and pay for some new clothes. Betty guessed that he was scrimping closely to save his wages, though she did not then suspect what she afterward learned to be true, that he was trying to live on two meals a day, and those none too bountiful. Bob had a healthy boy's appetite, and it took determination for him to go without the extra meal, but he had the grit to stick it out.
"When Bobby comes back you must go with us and meet Mrs. Littell," observed Betty. "She'll want to take you home to dinner. Oh, Bob, they are the loveliest people!"
Bob shifted his foot so that the patch on one shoe was hidden.
"I'll go with you to meet her on one condition," he said firmly. "I won't go to dinner anywhere to-night—that's flat, Betty. My collar isn't clean. And who are the Littells?"
That led to long explanations, of course, and Betty told in detail how she had left Bramble Farm, of the mix-up at the Union Station, and her subsequent friendship with the hospitable family. She also told him of Mr. Gordon's sudden trip to Oklahoma and his almost inexplicable silence, but kept to herself her worry over this silence and as to her own future if it continued. She gave him the latest news of the Benders and the Guerins and handed over the two letters from these friends she happened to have in her purse that he might read and enjoy them at his leisure. In short, Betty poured out much of the pent-up excitement and doubt and conjecture of the last few weeks to Bob, who was as hungry to hear as she was to tell it.
"They certainly are fine to you!" he exclaimed, referring to the Littells. "There isn't another family in Washington, probably, who would have been as kind to you. I think you'll hear from your uncle soon, Betty. Lots of times these oil wells, you know, are miles from a railroad or a post-office. You take that Mr. Littell's advice—he sounds as if he had a heap of common sense. And whatever they've done to you, you're looking great, Betty. Pretty, and stylish and—and different, somehow."
Betty blushed becomingly. She had brightened up amazingly during her stay in Washington, despite her anxiety about her uncle and, lately, Bob, The serene and happy life the whole household led under the roof of "Fairfields" had a great deal to do with this transformation, for the bickering and pettiness of the daily life at Bramble Farm had worn Betty's nerves insensibly. She tried to say something of this to Bob.
"I know," he nodded. "And, Betty, what do you think? I met the old miser right here in Washington!"
Instinctively Betty glanced behind her.
"You didn't!" she gasped. "Where? Did he—was he angry?"