And warmly clasping the hand of James, the happy Mr. Willard shook it with fervor, while the other boys looked on and felt that it was deserved.
“What is your name?” asked Mr. Willard, releasing the hand and looking down into the handsome face of the boy.
“Decker.”
“The son of Herbert Decker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, now, I must shake your hand again; your father is one of my best and oldest friends; he did more than any other one man to bring about my election to congress; I suspect it was he who started the cane presentation business to me. Is he proud of you, James?”
The boy laughed outright at the overwhelming manner of the portly congressman.
“I don’t think he is; at least I never heard him say so; when he believes I need a switching, he doesn’t forget to give it to me.”
“He does, eh? Well, I shall see him about that at once. It must be stopped; I won’t allow it; I don’t believe such a manly fellow as you ever deserves it. How old are you?”
“Thirteen years.”