When he got back to the cubbyhole under the Heffelfinger flat roof he found Purdick dressed and sitting on the edge of the cot. The sick one got up and wabbled around as if he were going to strike right out by himself, but Larry said: “Nothing doing; mamma’s baby hasn’t learned to walk yet,” and without more ado, wrapped the invalid in a blanket, stuck the candle in his hand so that he could light the way, and then gathered him up and carried him, catching his breath when he found what a feather-weight Purdick was, either from the sickness or from not getting enough to eat.
After Larry had bundled his arm-load into the hack, the short trip was made safely, though the machine skidded some, even with the chains on. Larry had taken time, while he was over in town looking for the auto, to telephone Mrs. Grant what he was meaning to do, so when he staggered up the steps with his burden, the good house-mother was at the door to meet him and help him get Purdick upstairs and into the bed that had been Dick’s.
A few minutes later she came trotting up with a pitcher of hot milk and made the new room-mate drink two glasses of it. After she went away, Purdick wanted to talk; wanted to know more about the scholarship, and who the fellow was who had grabbed it off for him, and if it was really true that he didn’t have to work for wages any more during the three-and-a-half years he hoped to stay in Old Sheddon. But Larry resolutely squelched him and told him to go to sleep, threatening to turn the lights off and run away to Welborn’s room to study if he wasn’t obeyed. So once more little Purdick turned his face to the wall; and a half-hour later, when Larry went to bed, the grippe patient was sleeping peacefully, and Larry, giving him the once over before he put the lights out, could fancy that a good half of the strained look had already gone out of the thin, colorless face.
This was the beginning of Larry’s experience with a substitute for Dickie Maxwell in the big upper room at Mrs. Grant’s. With the best of care, and plenty of good food, Purdick was soon up and around and at work in his section. Naturally, it took a good bit of boning to make up for the lost time, but since he didn’t have anything else to do, didn’t have to worry about rent and board and such things, he soon worked off the temporary handicap.
Matters went along quietly for three or four weeks before anything more was said about the “scholarship.” On the day following Purdick’s transfer to the Man-o’-War, Ollie McKnight had given Larry a check for the two thousand dollars, and with it Larry had opened an account in the college bank in the name of Charles Purdick, got a pass-book and a check-book and put both of them where Purdick could find them.
So far, so good. After Purdick got up and out, he paid his few debts and his delayed second semester dues, moved his scanty belongings over to Mrs. Grant’s, and apparently settled down to the new order of things without trying to find out anything more about his miraculous windfall. But Larry knew that the day of reckoning was only postponed, and it came one evening after the room had been cleared of the latest stragglers and its two occupants were left alone together.
“Now, then, Donnie,” Purdick began, “I want to know something more about this ‘scholarship’ thing. And first let me say that I know now that it isn’t a scholarship.”
“But it is, in a way,” Larry insisted.
“Not officially,” said Purdick. “There’s no record of any such thing in the books. I’ve asked the Registrar.”
“Good gracious!” Larry exclaimed, seeing trouble ahead; “why can’t you let well enough alone?”