“Here’s a letter for Grandpop Horner, Dick. The postman met me at the corner, and I guess he must have known I was headed for your house because he just handed it over and asked me to deliver it.”
Leslie, as he said this, held up the letter in question. He had met Dick at the gate of the little Horner cottage, as the latter was about setting out on some errand.
It was on the afternoon just before Christmas, and the winter had fully set in. There was a trace of snow on the ground, and the ice was in excellent condition for skating. Doubtless many a young person in Cliffwood, who anticipated receiving a new pair of skates on the following happy morning, was hoping that no cloud would come up to cover the fine sheet on the pond with snow before they had a chance to break in their cherished present.
Dick took the letter and looked hard at it. When he saw it was addressed on a typewriter, and that in the upper left-hand corner there was printed the name of a law firm in New York, somehow he was seized with a sense of coming trouble.
He knew that his grandfather had his little savings in a certain enterprise that heretofore had yielded fair profits. This sum of money, together with the pension that the Government paid the veteran, had barely sufficed to keep the wolf from the door of the Horner home for years.
“I hope it isn’t bad news I’ve fetched you, Dick?” ventured Leslie, uneasily, for he had seen that frown gather on the forehead of his chum, and could give a pretty fair guess as to what caused it.
“Oh! I hardly think that could be,” replied Dick, trying to smile cheerily. “With Christmas coming tomorrow it would be pretty tough for grandpop to get bad news. I was only going on a little errand, so I’ll turn back and give it to him.”
Leslie was almost as much at home in Dick’s humble dwelling as in his more spacious home; so he did not hesitate to follow at his chum’s heels when the other hurried back to the door.
“Here’s a letter for you, Grandpop,” remarked Dick, as he entered.
The old veteran was sitting by the fire, droning over his pipe, and the paper which came in the morning mail. He aroused himself at the information, for letters were few and far between at the Horner home, so that the receipt of one always caused more or less interest. Mrs. Horner came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron; even little Sue ceased playing with her favorite cat, and looked up expectantly.