"What's the matter, old man? Has some one sent you a bill?"
"No, but it's a note from my Uncle Ezra Larabee, of Dankville, saying he's coming to pay me a visit. Whew!"
"A visit from Uncle Ezra; eh? Isn't he that sour-faced man who hates your bulldog, Grit, and who thinks football is a waste of time?"
"That's the man, Paul. And he's the same uncle who tried to kidnap me, to teach me how sinful it was to go off and have a good time on my yacht. Oh, he's the limit!"
"But if there isn't any love lost between you, why is he coming here, Dick? I think you told me he was about as near to being a miser as it's possible to get, and it costs money to come here from Dankville."
"Oh, he isn't coming specially to see me—you can make up your mind to that, Paul. I'm only a side issue. Let's see what he says," and Dick took up the letter again. "'Dear Nephew Richard,'" he read—"he never calls me anything but Richard, you know. 'I hope you are doing well in your studies'—no, that isn't it—'I trust you have gotten rid of your savage dog'—no, it isn't there—quiet, Grit!" he called to a handsome-homely dog in one corner of the room, the intelligent beast having growled instinctively at the mention of Uncle Ezra's name.
"Let's see, where is that part of his note?" went on Dick, leafing over the sheet. "He's wasteful enough of paper, ink and words, if he isn't of money. Oh, here it is. 'I have some business to attend to near Kentfield, and after I have finished I will run over and see you.'
"There you are, Paul. You see he's only coming to see me as an after-thought. Probably he knows I'll ask him to take dinner with me in the mess hall, and he can save the price of a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Oh, Uncle Ezra is mighty saving!"
"He must be."
"Well, he won't be here until afternoon, Paul. So let's take advantage of it and go for a walk. You haven't anything on; have you?"