Oscar watched his friend as long as he remained in sight, and then, leaning his elbows on the work-bench, he rested his chin upon his hands and looked thoughtfully out of the window toward the evergreen screen behind the house.
He was by no means as cheerful and hopeful as he had been a short half hour before. His crony's visit had depressed his spirits wonderfully, but Sam was not to blame for that.
He had asked him what he thought of the president's proposition, and Sam—as he always did—had answered his question promptly, and in language that could not possibly be misunderstood.
Perhaps Sam was right, and he would never again hear of the man who had called himself President Potter.
Oscar had resolved more than once that day that he would not build any hopes upon the offer he had received; but, in spite of all his efforts, his thoughts would dwell upon it, and every little while he found himself indulging in some rosy dreams of the future.
Would it not be a good plan to take Sam's advice and tell Mr. Smith that he would go back to the store for the wages he had, of his own free will, offered to give him?
The thirty-five dollars a month he was sure of—the larger sum he was not sure of. While he was thinking about it, his mother came to the door and called him to dinner.
The first thing Oscar did when he entered the dining room was to place in his mother's hands the money he had been paid by Mr. Jackson, and the check he had received from Calkins & Son; but he said not a word to her regarding the interviews he had held with Professor Potter and Mr. Smith.
He could not describe these interviews without telling of the propositions that had been made him, and he did not want to do that until he had determined upon something.