“That’s all,” confessed Bud, his face reddening. “I never seemed to get ahead. I was always in trouble, and whenever I seemed to be gettin’ a start, Mr. Stockwell would take me out an’ put me to work a spell. Even ef I had the money, I ain’t never goin’ to the high school here. I’m too old.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I could go to the normal school, over to Green County, in the winter an’ work for Mr. Camp in the summer.”
“What’d that cost you?”
“Cost him ’bout eight dollars a week. Josh figured on it,” answered Mr. Camp.
“Well,” said Mr. Elder, throwing himself back into his chair, “you can do that!”
Bud gulped.
“I been doin’ a little hasty investigatin’ while I was out. What I found out I got to look into further, but it’s nigh enough right I reckon to make it worth tellin’. Mr. Stockwell, as your guardian and the executor of your father’s estate, ain’t made but one report to the court in ten years. Two years after your father died, he reported that he’d been rentin’ the farm at six dollars an acre, cash rent. That meant four hundred, and eighty dollars a year, or nine hundred and sixty dollars for the two years. Agin that, he offset one hundred and twenty dollars for taxes, five hundred and twenty dollars for your board and clothes, and two hundred and forty dollars ‘for fences an’ repairs.’ The court allowed it. Since that time, he ain’t made no report.”
Bud wrinkled his brow in an effort to comprehend. But old “Stump” Camp understood and chuckled.