“Absolutely nothing an hour, Mrs. Levering.”
“Oh, no!” she protested, but she looked relieved. “I will not hear of that. The Democrats haven’t brought us that low—yet. Although goodness only knows what’s to happen next. I really believe they caused that blizzard last March! Well! We’ll talk it over later. But you’ll have to charge something. It’s your business, man, and a tough job you’ll have,” twitching Gorgas’ ears affectionately. “Reading novels and riding Gyp—that’s this little girl’s idea of getting an education!”
“All right, Mrs. Levering, we’ll talk it over later. But I make it a rule never to charge for this sort of out-of-school work. I like to do it. It’s my fun. But you may give me a dinner occasionally. We teachers do get hungry for good food—and good company!”
“A bargain!” the lady called out happily. “But I’m off. I’ll be late. You’ve cost me a quarter-dollar fine, young man. Dinners? If you do anything with Gorgas I’ll take you in as a permanent boarder. Day-day, child. Goodby, Mr. Blynn. Sorry I couldn’t stay. Gorgas,” she was at the door now, “get Louisa to make a nice cool drink. And give the Professor something to eat. Don’t ever let him get hungry!” Her laugh carried her down the steps.
As they picnicked on the back-lawn, his instinct told him to keep away from the Bardek story, to act as if it were a thing to be forgotten. Only when he was ready to go, and she seemed to have an unwonted appearance of depression, he repeated his promise to keep the matter secret until she would wish him to tell. This seemed to brighten her tremendously; for she was terribly downcast at the thought of her failure. Now she seemed to be almost her buoyant self.
“You did not tell your mother I was coming,” he remarked.
“No.” But she did not seem troubled.
“Nor your sister?”
“No,” very seriously, “they were both going out. I was afraid if I told them they might stay home.”
Then the comical side of her statement struck her. They both laughed over it as they shook hands.