His mind seized upon every hint, and bit by bit his resolution was formed. Milton, going by one Monday morning on his way to the seminary, stopped beside the fence where Brad was plowing and waited for him to come up. He had a real interest in Bradley.
"Hello, Brad," he called cheerily.
"How's business?"
"Oh, so so. Pretty cold."
The wind was blowing cold and cuttingly from the north-west. Milton, rosy with his walk, dropped down beside the hedge of weeds in the sun and Brad climbed over the fence and joined him. It was warm and cosy there, and the crickets were cheeping feebly in the russet grass where the sunlight fell. The wind whistled through the weeds with a wild, mournful sound. Bradley did not speak for some time. He listened to Milton. At last he said abruptly—
"Say, Milt, what does it cost to go to school down there?"
"Depends on who goes. Cost me 'bout forty dollars a term. Shep an' I room it and cook our own grub."
"What's the tuition?"
"Eight dollars a term."