“Ain’ dat nuff to pay me mah money what yo’ all loan’ from me?”
Morey laughed and then he grew sober. He had wholly forgotten the one person who had helped him when he most needed assistance.
“What is a banjo worth, Amos?” he asked.
“Ah kin git one fo’ foah dollahs an’ two bits.”
“Here,” exclaimed the white boy, taking a treasured twenty dollar bill from his pocket. “This is for what I borrowed and a banjo and all the cinnamon drops you can eat.”
As Morey entered the bank a little later on some business for his mother, he was overtaken by the station agent and telegraph operator, who was in a state of high excitement and out of breath. The man had a carefully sealed telegram in his hand, but from his face it could be seen that he knew every word of its contents. Major Carey had just come downstairs from his office. He had been making desperate efforts when he met Morey, to reinstate himself in the lad’s good graces.
“Official orders, I reckon?” exclaimed the banker.
Morey read the following:
“Sergeant Mortimer Marshall:
“Department reports favorably. Offers $25,000 outright for secret. Acceptance must be by widow. Congratulations. Report at Fort Meyer August sixth. Detailed on squad leaving for France August eighth to witness French war office aeroplane trials.