Mr. Dean smiled. “Oh, that you may try to guess. But it is not Dr. Wallace; that I happen to know.”
“It isn’t!” The master could not see David’s wide, astonished eyes, but he could recognize the sound of amazement in his voice. “Then who can it be? Oh, I know! Mr. Dean! Mr. Dean!”
David dropped on one knee beside the couch and grasped his friend’s hand.
“I didn’t intend to take you into my secret until the end of your school career,” said Mr. Dean, squeezing the boy’s hand affectionately. “I thought it would be better for you, less embarrassing, if you didn’t feel under obligation to one in the immediate neighborhood. But since you’ve guessed it—well, you must try to go on regarding me exactly as before.”
“All right; I’ll try.” The very sound of David’s laugh was grateful and affectionate. “But I don’t see why you ever did all this for me, Mr. Dean.”
“I did it because I liked you and because I liked your father. I haven’t any near relatives, David, and I have more money than I need for my own use. You see, the reasons were very simple. And now that you’ve wormed all this out of me—which you never should have done—will you come and live here with me next year?”
“Of course I will! What is there that I should like better?”
At that moment there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Mr. Dean.
It was Lester Wallace that entered.