When Major Squiers had gone, Morey, enthusiastic as a child, laid his arm on Lieutenant Purcell’s shoulders.
“Lieutenant,” said the boy, “why are you so good to me?”
The young officer grew suddenly sober, was silent a moment, and then said:
“Because I can see how hard you are working to make a good man out of a very foolish boy.”
That was a new thought for Morey. Hurt by it at first, he cogitated over it a long time before going to sleep that night. At last, lying in his bed, he smiled. “Wasn’t I the limit?” he said to himself. “Buying a four hundred dollar engine on a capital of seventy-five cents!”
Lieutenant Purcell’s official duties demanded his attention until noon the next day. But, after luncheon, it was arranged that he and Morey were to go into the city in an electric car and open up negotiations as to selling his mother’s land or borrowing money on it. Morey saw at once that the negotiations under way would be extended over several days. He had no desire to force himself upon his new friend’s hospitality and he had found it impossible to tell his host that he had but $1.88 in funds. After puzzling over the matter some time he decided to take advantage of his unoccupied morning to dispose of Betty. He would thus be beyond the necessity of borrowing funds to cover his and Amos’ expenses for a short time.
Amos had not wandered far from the lieutenant’s quarters. Fear of the guard house kept him close to the kitchen. Calling the black boy, Morey visited the military barn, secured Betty, gave the enlisted hostler a quarter for his good nature, and drove out of the reservation.
When Morey turned old Betty’s head to the west, Amos for the first time showed signs of life.
“Da’s right, Marse Morey. Le’s go back home. Dis no place fo’ we all.”