“In what?”asked Beecham. “In book-agent assurance? Never fear. I am willing to certify that beneath all your laughing good humor, you are possessed of an unlimited amount of—of—well—to put it without circumlocution—an unlimited amount of cheek. No one can withstand your winning smile and drawing manner. But what is your own gift? Let us head the list with that. I must tell you that your cousin Garrett has promised to equal your subscription, so make it large, if you please. He has already given——”
“How much?”asked Henning uneasily.
“Five dollars.”
“Oh,” said Henning, with something very like a sob in his throat.
“Better make it twenty-five, Roy; you can spare it, and it's practically giving an extra twenty which comes out of the pocket of that beg—Oh! I beg your pardon. I am constantly forgetting that he is your cousin. I wish he wasn't.”
Beecham spoke the last sentence in blunt, boyish fashion. Roy understood him, but just now he was not inclined either to defend his cousin, or discuss his friend's desires.
“I am afraid I shall disappoint you this time, boys,” said Roy.
“You never have yet,” remarked Shealey.
“But I shall this time, I am sure.”