"I'll go," said Dan briefly, but his tone meant a great deal. If he had lived in these days, he would have answered "Sure!" with that peculiar inflection that implies whole-souled loyalty. Charles understood the embarrassed heartiness, and took the reply as it was intended.
"How soon can we start?" he asked anxiously. Every moment meant something to him, and he was impatient to be off. He took out his watch. It was quarter to six. "They told me there was a night-coach making connection with the early boat for New York. It starts at seven o'clock. Would that be too soon for you?"
"That's all right," said Daniel, in a voice that was hoarse with excitement. "I just got to change my clothes. Will you come in?"
"Suppose I wait on the front stoop," suggested Charles, seeing the embarrassment in the boy's face.
"All right," said Daniel. "I won't be long."
Mrs. Butterworth looked up anxiously as Dan came into the kitchen. She had been watching the interview from the side window.
"I'm goin' to New York with one of Teacher's friends, ma," he said, in the same tone he would have told her he was going to the village store. "Have I got a clean shirt?"
"To New York!" echoed the woman, who herself had never been outside of the county. "To New York!"—aghast. "Now, you look out, Dan'l. You can't tell 'bout strangers. He may want to get you way from your friends an' rob you."
"What is there to rob, I'd like to know? He's welcome to all he can get."
"You never can tell," said his mother, shaking her head fearfully. "You better take care, Dan'l."