“Dick—Dick Merriwell?” she murmured. “Were we speaking of him, Chester? I’m so very forgetful. It’s annoying to be so extremely forgetful.”
“Yes, mother, I told you that he was my dearest friend—the fellow I esteem above all others.”
She held out her hand, which Dick promptly took, bowing low, his head bared.
“You will excuse me, Mr. Merriwell,” she said. “I would rise to greet my son’s dearest friend, but I’m not very strong.”
“I wouldn’t have you rise for the world, Mrs. Arlington,” said Dick, his voice a trifle unsteady in spite of himself, a slight mist creeping into his eyes. “I am very glad indeed to meet Chester Arlington’s mother. It is a pleasure and a privilege.”
“Thank you,” she returned, looking at him earnestly. “You have a fine face, and you are a thoroughbred gentleman. My boy has to mingle with very rough characters, you know—his business demands it. His business is—it is—— Chester, what is your business?”
“Mining, mother.”
“Oh, yes. Isn’t it strange I can’t remember such things? My daughter is here with me. Have you ever met my daughter, Mr. Merriwell?”
Had he ever met June Arlington! It seemed impossible that her mind could be blank to all recollection of the past, in which she had so intensely opposed the friendship between June and Dick.
“I have met her, Mrs. Arlington.”