“Not a great deal, mother,” he said, with a trace of conscious pride in his voice; “but I can’t say as much for the other fellow.”
“I was sorry to hear that you were quarreling,” she remarked gravely; “it’s not gentlemanly.”
“But I could not let the other boys think I was a coward,” he cried quickly.
His mother made no reply to this, but pointing toward the sitting room, said simply:
“Your father is waiting to see you.”
Herbert started up the stairway, filled with misgivings. It was a rare thing for his father to send for him, and the serious manner in which his mother had delivered the message convinced him that it must be a matter of importance. David Harkins was above everything else a just man. He had started out in life with bright prospects, but through a series of misfortunes over which he had no control, his little fortune had been very much reduced and his health greatly impaired.
His doctor advised him to go into the country and engage in open air work as much as possible. He cautioned him above all else to avoid the occasions of excitement. The medical man assured him that his heart was weak, and that it would not stand any severe or unusual strain. Mr. Harkins examined various properties in the vicinity of the city, and finally decided upon the neat little place at Cleverly. It contained a garden and was within a reasonable distance of the city whence Mr. Harkins’ employment called him several times a week. In the meantime he cultivated the garden, and by dint of close economy managed to make both ends meet. Mr. Harkins was engaged in looking over some papers when Herbert entered the room. He laid them down immediately and turned to the boy with a look in which affection and reproach were mingled.
“Herbert, I hear bad reports about you.”
“I’m sorry for that, father,” was the response, “because I don’t believe I deserve them.”
Mr. Harkins glanced at Herbert keenly, and the look which he received in return seemed to satisfy him, for he said: