"To-be-sure," said Uncle Bobbie, "I know. To-be-sure. Sometimes a bad feller like him gets tangled up with good people in such a way you jist got t'er let 'em alone; tares an' wheat you know; tares and wheat. To-be-sure Christianity aint 'rithmetic, and you can't save souls like you'd do problems in long division, ner count results like you'd figger interest. What'd ye say?—Suppose you skip down to the corner and fetch him up here."
Dick glanced at the negro. "Never you mind him," said the old gentleman, with a fierce scowl. "Your uncle'll shoot the blamed head off him if he so much as bats an eye; he knows it too." And he trained the long gun on the trembling black.
Dick slipped out of the back door and soon returned holding Frank firmly by the collar. As they entered, Uncle Bobbie said to the negro, "Now's yer chance, Bill; git out quick 'fore we change our minds." And the astonished darkey bolted.
"Now Frank," said the old gentleman kindly, when Dick had placed his prisoner in a chair, "tell us all about it." And young Goodrich, too frightened almost to speak above a whisper, told the whole miserable story.
"Too bad; too bad," muttered Uncle Bobbie, when Frank had finished. "To-be-sure, taint no more'n I expected; gamblin' church members ain't got no call to kick if their children play cards fer money. What'll we do, Dick?"
Dick was silent, but unseen by Frank, he motioned toward the door.
[Illustration: "Too bad, too bad, muttered Uncle Bobbie.">[
Uncle Bobbie understood. "I reckon yer right," he said, slowly, "tares an' wheat—tares an' wheat. But what about them notes?"
"I'll fix Whitley," replied Dick.
Frank looked at him in wonder.