“Thank you,” she said, jumping down from the tree-trunk. “Now that we have settled it, let us go to the house and tell Auntie Sue, and I will start in the morning.”
As they went down the hill, they discussed the matter further, and, later, at the house, Brian took a moment, when Auntie Sue was in her room, to hand an envelope to his assistant. “Your salary,” he said, hurriedly, “and expense money for the trip.”
“Oh!” Betty Jo's exclamation was one of surprise. Then she said, in her most matter-of-fact, businesslike tone: “Thank you. I will render a statement of my account, but—” For once, Betty Jo seemed at a loss for words. “You don't mind if I ask—is—is this money—?”
Brian's face was a study. “Yes,” he said, “it is really Auntie Sue's money; but it is all I have, and I can't return it to her—without her knowing—so I—”
Betty Jo interrupted: “I understand. It is all we can do,—forgive me?”
Brian Kent did not know that Betty Jo, a few minutes later, buried the envelope he had given her deep in the bottom of her trunk without even opening it.
The next day, Brian drove to Thompsonville with Betty Jo, who took the noon train for the East.
The two were rather quiet as “Old Prince” jogged soberly along the beautiful river road. Only now and then did they exchange a few words of the most commonplace observation.
They were within sight of the little Ozark settlement when Brian said, earnestly: “I wish I could tell you, Miss Williams, just what your coming to help me with this work has meant to me.”
“It has meant a great deal to me, too, Mr. Burns,” she returned. Then she added quickly: “I suppose the first real work one does after finishing school always means more than any position following could possibly mean, don't you think? Just like your book. No matter how many you may write in the future, this will always mean more to you than any one of them.”