“But he sends money for your schooling and board to Mr. Gabel, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but he sends cash in a letter, and he doesn’t even register it. I wrote to the postal authorities of the Western city where his letters were mailed, but they said they could give me no information.”
“What is your uncle doing in the West?”
“He is engaged in some secret mission. I never could find out what it is, and I don’t believe Mr. Gabel knows, either. Oh, but Gabel is a mean man! He seems to take delight in making me miserable. Now you know why I act so queerly. I like a good time, and I like to be with the fellows, but I haven’t a cent to spend to treat them with, and I’m not going to accept favors that I can’t return. Why, I haven’t had a cent to spend for myself in six months!”
Jack whistled.
“That’s tough,” he said. “But say, Will, you’re mistaken if you think our crowd cares anything for money. Why didn’t you say something about this before?”
“I—I was ashamed to.”
“Why, we thought you didn’t like us,” went on Jack. “Now I see that we were mistaken. I wish we had Mr. Gabel here. We’d haze him first, and throw him into the lake afterward. Now, Will, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do?”
“What?” asked the lad, who seemed much better in spirits, now that he had made a confession.
“In the first place, you’re coming to the village with me,” said Jack. “Then you’re going to forget all about your troubles and about dying under the snow. Then, when I get a bundle from home, you’re coming back with me, and——”