Dick could see, in fancy, the kind of a school Uncle Ezra would pick out, and he could also fancy the principal of it, a harsh, stern old man. He sighed, but there was no help for it.
"So I will take you away with me to-morrow," went on Mr. Larabee, rubbing his hands as if delighted at the prospect. "I shall—Gracious goodness! What's that?" he exclaimed, jumping from his chair, as a loud growl sounded from under the library table. "Have you a wild animal in here, Nephew Richard?"
"I guess it's my bulldog, Grit," replied Dick. "Here, Gibbs," calling the butler, "have Grit taken to the stable."
Grit was led away, growling out a protest.
"I can't bear dogs," said Uncle Ezra. "You'll not be allowed to have one at The Firs, so you had better get rid of this one."
"Oh, I suppose I can leave Grit home," answered Dick, with a sigh. "Can I get you something to eat, Uncle Ezra?" he asked, trying to be hospitable.
"No, thank you, Nephew Richard. I never eat between meals, nor do I allow it at my house. Three times a day is enough to eat."
"Maybe you would like some lemonade; it's quite warm to-day." Dick was both hungry and thirsty.
"No, lemonade is bad for the liver, I have heard. You may get me some plain water, if you please."
"And I've got to live a year with him," mused Dick as he went out to get his uncle a drink. "Why, oh why, didn't some of my investments succeed?"