In their absence mail had been distributed, and on the table in their room lay two letters, one for Robert, the other for his roommate.
Robert's letter was from his father, and was full of cheering home news, and it was eagerly read by the young man.
"By George, Stone, father enjoys his work with the Light House Board ever so much. He says——Why, Stone, old chap, what is the matter?"
Stonewell was standing at the open window, looking blankly across the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. In his left hand, crushed, was the letter he had just received. His face was drawn, and in it Robert recognized an expression he had seen but once before. Intense apprehension and worry, perhaps fear, shone from Stonewell's eyes. Apparently he was oblivious to his roommate's question, for he took no notice of it.
"What's the matter, Stone?" again cried Robert, rising from his chair, and going to his roommate.
"Oh, Bob, excuse me for not answering your question—I was—I was thinking of something else."
"But have you had bad news? You surely have, Stone. Can't you talk it over with me? Just think how much good you did me when I had bad news."
Stonewell gave Robert a look of great affection and said: "Thank you, old friend, there is no one on earth I would talk with so quickly as I would with you. And it may be that I will want to talk something over with you later, but just at present, Bob, there is nothing I could say—you must excuse me." And with that Stonewell picked up his hat and strode from the room.
Robert was full of surprise and worry. It was plainly evident that Stonewell was under deep emotion, and just like him, he could not or would not speak of the matter that so affected him.
"I wish he would talk it over with me," thought Robert; "it always makes a fellow feel better if he tells his worries to a true friend. What a lot of times old Stone has helped me in my troubles—and some of them were big ones, too! When we take our walk this afternoon I'll try to get him to tell me."