“May I go home for a few days?” he pleaded. “I know now that I did wrong to enlist. But I’ve got to go home and see what I can do.”
“I’ll give you leave of absence for a week,” answered his superior sympathetically. “If, at the end of that time you want more leave let me know and I’ll grant it. But you did not do wrong. You are going to be a credit to yourself and to your mother.”
“I’m going to Washington,” said Morey tremulously. “If nothing can be done there I’ll go home. With what I know I’ll confront the men who are trying to rob us. I’m sure I’m enough older now to accomplish something.”
“You must,” replied Major Squiers, “for I have counted on you in my summer plans. You have become valuable to us. Arrange to rejoin the corps by the first of August—you cannot afford to miss what I have arranged for you.”
At three o’clock that afternoon the disconsolate boy was in Washington on his way home on a leave of absence. Hastening to the office of the real estate firm he met the manager just leaving for the day.
“I meant to write to you in the morning,” began the busy dealer with unusual condescension. “I have a proposition to make to you and your mother. Jump in my car! I’m going out for a little ride. We’ll talk it over in the automobile.”
Morey’s heart leaped.
“I’ll be perfectly frank with you,” said the manager, “and what I have to say is based on the assumption that you represent your mother.”
“I think you can do that, sir,” replied Morey. “She has not authorized me to act for her, but our necessities are such that I must compel her to listen to reason.”
“Well,” began the agent, “we have had a man in your part of the country and he has just returned. It was not difficult to find that the Barber Bank is preparing to secure your land. We are like the Barber Bank, in a way. We are here to make money where and when we can. The land is ample security for the loan you ask.”