Dick Merriwell was generous to a fault, but, not believing in bought friendship, he did not sow his money with a lavish hand. He was more like the general run of boys, and from his behavior no one would have dreamed that on arriving at age he was to come into a fortune of mammoth proportions.
On no occasion, however, did Chester fail to impress on his friends and companions the fact that his father was one of the richest men in the country.
Chester’s little speech brought forth a storm of applause, and the boys pressed around him to shake his hand as he stepped down from the carriage.
Mrs. Arlington had seen June looking in the direction of two lads who stood beyond the crowd. She adjusted her spectacles and looked in the same direction.
“Is that young Merriwell?” she asked.
“Yes, mother,” answered June. “You said you were going to thank him for what he did.”
Chester Arlington’s mother heaved a sigh of mingled regret and resignation. Her haughty face seemed to say that it was an unpleasant duty she had to perform, but that she would try to go through it bravely and with the dignity becoming a woman of her station in life. She leaned over the side of the carriage and touched her son’s shoulder with her gloved hand.
“My dear boy,” she said, “I—er—ah—I perceive that—er—that young man, Merriwell, yonder. Will you have one of your friends invite him to step over here to the carriage?”
Two or three of the plebes heard her and hurried toward Dick at once.
“Be careful, mother,” warned Chester, in a low tone. “He mustn’t think he has done too much.”