"Mother has just told me you are going to New York to-morrow; is that so?"
"Yes, I have business there for the firm. Why?"
"I was hoping I might go along with you," returned the boy.
Dick's father scrutinized his son's face for a moment, wondering what was behind the quiet glance and serious manner of the lad.
"What is the big idea?" questioned Mr. Comstock. "Want to spend a week or two with Cousin Ella Harris?"
"No," replied Dick slowly, "I have something else in mind, but I don't want to tell you what it is until we get on the train. It's a matter I have been thinking over for some time and--well, you will know all about it to-morrow, if I may go with you."
"Very well," replied his father, turning again to his work; "pack up and be ready to leave in the morning. We'll take the ten o'clock express."
"Good-night, Dad, and thank you," said Dick simply.
"Good-night, Dick," answered Mr. Comstock, without looking up, consequently he failed to see the lingering look the boy gave the familiar scene before him, as if bidding it a silent last "good-night." For Dick was drinking in each detail of the room as if trying to fix its every feature indelibly in his memory.
At breakfast next morning he was more quiet than his mother had ever known him, and both she and his sister Ursula were surprised to see the tears fill his eyes when he kissed them.