“I don’t know how quiet it will be to-morrow,” said David, “when about two hundred and fifty old boys arrive.”
“Oh, yes, it will be lively enough at times, and I’m glad of that, too. And you’ll go in for all the activities there are; I needn’t urge that. The thing I do want to emphasize, David, is the importance of making full use of all the quiet hours.”
“I will do my best, father.”
“And you will remember, of course, that it’s more necessary for you than for most of the fellows you will associate with to practice economy.”
“Yes, father, I shall be careful.”
There was silence, and during it they saw a motor-car turn in at the gateway and a moment later draw up before the steps of the building. They both knew what it meant, yet each shrank from declaring it to the other.
“Write to us often, David,” said Dr. Ives. “You will be always in our hearts; we shall be thinking and talking of you every day. Don’t forget us.”
David found himself unable to speak. He shook his head and squeezed his father’s hand. They sat again in silence for a little while.
“Well, my boy—” said Dr. Ives.