At this order Walter nudged Ben, and both looked at each other and smiled. "He's reforming," whispered the young sailor. "Only give him time, and he'll be all right."
"Yes, Mr. Dowling," put in the housekeeper. "And you said something about pie yesterday, when Master Ben should come. What of that?"
"Ah, yes, so I did, so I did." The former miser wrinkled his brow. "How much does a pie cost?"
"Ten and twenty cents."
"Boys, do you think you could eat a twenty-cent pie?"
"Do we?" cried Walter. "Just try us and see, Uncle Job." And now he clasped his guardian half affectionately by the shoulder.
"Then get the twenty-cent pie, Mrs. Graham, and be sure an' pick out the best. You—er—have the other things?"
"Yes, sir—potatoes, green corn, and coffee."
"Very good." And as the housekeeper retired, Job Dowling turned to the boys again. "And how is your arm, Ben? Not seriously hurt, I trust?"
"It's only a scratch," was the answer.