“Let me go with you, Hal.”
“No, Pickles, you mustn’t think of doing such a thing. You must stay here and tell them all I’m not a thief. Oh, Pick, it’s terrible to be called such a thing. You don’t know how I feel about it. Your father’s rich and mine’s poor, but I wouldn’t steal if I was starving—any more’n you would. Even when I was selling newspapers in Denver and making only half or quarter of a cent on each paper, I couldn’t think of stealing. I’d run a block to catch a man if I found I’d given him the wrong change. I’ll write to Dr. Byrd and tell him all about it, for I’ll have to thank him for what he has done for me.”
“Hal, I’ll do anything you want me to, but I’d rather go along. If you’ll wait, I’ll write to my father and he’ll come here and fix everything up for you.”
“No, it’s all settled what I’m going to do,” Hal answered determinedly. “You stay here, and when I get settled in a job somewhere, I’ll write you.”
“Well, it’s half an hour till bedtime,” said Pickles. “I’m going out till then.”
“Don’t give me away.”
“I should say not. You’ll be here when I come back?”
“Yes.”
Walter slipped softly out of the room, as was his custom. In the library he found Fes Sharer and whispered a few words in his ear. Then the two started out on a hunt and soon rounded up Bun and Bad. The four chums then held a whispered conference out on the lawn. As they separated, Pickles said:
“Remember, in an hour, under the big poplar.”