Paul declined to permit Dan to bear any part of the expense incurred after their arrival in Winnipeg, and Densmore supplied both Dan and Captain Bluntt with their transportation home, and upon Paul’s suggestion presented Dan with a new rifle and shotgun just like Paul’s.
Finally, when sailing day arrived, Densmore, Paul and Remington saw them off, and the lads parted regretfully.
“You’re the best fellow I ever knew,” declared Paul, as they shook hands, “and we’ll always be chums.”
“An’ I hopes,” said Dan, “we may be takin’ a cruise together again sometime.”
The lines were thrown off, the active little tugs began puffing and sputtering, and slowly the steamer drew away from her wharf, Paul and Dan waving their caps as long as they could see each other.
Paul and his father were together a good deal in the days that followed. Densmore would frequently take an afternoon off, and together they would go to the Polo grounds, and father and son would yell and cheer together. Densmore had suddenly developed into a full-fledged baseball fan, and taught Paul his first appreciation of the game. They had long walks in the park these summer evenings, and discussed many things dear to a boy’s heart. They became, in fact, inseparable chums.
“Father,” said Paul one evening, as they strolled up Riverside Drive toward Grant’s Tomb. “I wish I had something to do. I’ve spent about all the money I got for my furs, and I hate to have to call on you for money that I don’t earn. It makes me feel—well, just useless—a sissy.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know—but something. It made me feel so independent to earn my own living while I was away, and to know I earned the money I had when I came back, and I’d like to feel that way all the time. I’m ashamed when I remember how I used to waste money I never earned. Dan always earned his own way.”