"Not exactly, you think of so many things."
"I'm thinking of those poor little fresh-air kids, and how disappointed they must be not to get a trip to the country. I don't know as I want them to go to Uncle Ezra's, but—er—say, dad, I'd like to give a bunch of fresh-air kids some sort of an outing. Think of the poor little tots shut up in sizzling New York this kind of weather."
"Well, you can bring them here, I suppose," began Mr. Hamilton, doubtfully, with a look around his handsomely furnished house, "only this isn't exactly the country."
"Oh, I didn't mean here," said Dick, hastily. "I was thinking we could have a crowd of 'em out to Sunnyside."
This was the name of a large farm which Mr. Hamilton owned on the outskirts of the country village of Prattville.
"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, with as much fervor as Dick had shown. "That's the ticket, Dick. I'll write to Foster at once and ask him if he and his wife can take a crowd of the waifs at Sunnyside for a few weeks. Then you will have to manage the other end yourself. Foster will do as I say, I guess, for he loves children and he has a heart as big as a barrel. You'll have to furnish the children."
"I'll do it!" exclaimed Dick, delightedly. "I'll write to Uncle Ezra and ask him the address of that committee in New York. Hurrah for the fresh-air kids! I hope they have a good time!"
"I guess they will if he has anything to do with it," mused Mr. Hamilton, with a fond look at his son as Dick went to get writing material to pen a letter to Uncle Ezra.