"It's funny how that letter brings her back to me," mused Bob. "What a loyal little sport she was! Always getting herself into scrapes to help other people out of them! And generous! Why, she'd give you her last dollar! She'd give you the coat off her back; yes, she would, Miss Thompson."
"She must be a perfect angel," smiled the girl.
"Not she. She's got a temper all right. I wouldn't give a hang for a girl who hadn't a bit of temper. We used to have regular fights. Ha, ha, ha! I remember when we broke Father's glasses in one of our scuffles. I did it, but Betty took the blame, or she tried to. Dad gave me an awful scolding and made me spend three dollars of my money for a new pair. Three dollars is a lot for a little fellow; it was all I had in the world and Betty was so sorry for me that—what do you suppose that little monkey did?"
"What?" questioned the secretary, and there was a quiver in her voice.
"She had no money of her own; Betty never had any money, so she took her new club skates and her bicycle, mind you, she just loved that bicycle, and she sold 'em both to a boy named Cohen for three dollars."
An indignant look flashed in Betty's eyes. "Sammy Cohen! Little Shylock!"
Bob looked at her sharply. "How did you know his name was Sammy?"
"Why—didn't you say Sammy Cohen?" she answered in confusion.
"Did I? Well, anyway, Betty stuffed that three dollars into my savings bank because she knew I wouldn't take it. Can you beat that?"
At this moment their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Parker, the butler, who came to say, with mysterious nods and a grim tightening of the lips, that Mr. Fitz-Brown and the countess had got in trouble with the car at the foot of the hill and that Anton had gone to their assistance. Whereupon Bob Baxter hurried off to see what was the matter and Parker hurried after him, if Parker could ever be said to hurry.