"What's up, Pep?" he asked kindly.
"Dad's worse, sir," replied the boy. "I don't think I can come up
Sunday, 'ceptin' he gets better."
"Wouldn't you like us to come down, any way?" asked Frank.
"I would, yes; but he wouldn't. His head ain't right, and he don't want no one around 'ceptin' me."
"Well, will you come up to the house, and get some nice stuff I will give you? Some eating and the like?" continued Frank.
"Yes, sir; thank you."
"I'll expect you. Good-by."
"Good-by, sir. Good-by, Mr. Dare," cried Pep. "Oh, say," he added, running back, "I reckon I can give you that other dollar by Monday."
On Saturday afternoon, as they were starting home early, Frank unfolded his scheme of one day going into business for himself.
"I would like to see you do it," cried Richard, "and make a big success of it, too. You deserve it, Frank—such a good fellow as you are!"