“MISTER WESTON,” SAID BEN, GRAVELY.
Here Paul burst into a flood of tears at the thought that his companions were reproving him for grieving for those whom he loved so dearly, and whom he feared he might never meet again. Ben hesitated at this grief of his friend, and for a moment it seemed as if he could not continue until he had tried to console him; but like one who has a duty to perform, and must do it as quickly as possible, he continued:
“We ain’t layin’ anything up agin you ’cause you don’t want to stay round here, for we don’t blame you, seeing how you’ve got a good home to go to; an’ if we had one we should tear round worse’n you do. But all the same, we’ve seen how you felt about it, an’ we’ve come to the ’clusion that you’d better not stay here any longer.”
Paul looked up in fear and surprise, for it certainly seemed as if he was being turned away.
“No,” continued Ben, in a loud voice, growing more emphatic the nearer he approached the conclusion of his speech—“we’ve made up our minds that you’ve got to go, an’ Dickey here’s all ready to take your place as one of the boarders. We give a pretty good show Saturday night, an’ we got so much money out of it that we’ve bought this for you so’s you can go home.”
Ben handed Paul the ticket, which he had opened to full length as he ceased speaking, and it was some moments before the surprised boy could understand it all. But when he realized that now he could go to his friends, if not to his parents, his joy was more than he could control, and from its very excess came the tears in an irresistible torrent.