“Ain’t crying when good news has come, are you, lad?” Sam asked, raising the boy’s chin until he could look into his face.
“Indeed, I’m not, Mr. Hardy. I just wanted to remind Fluff so he’d never forget it, that we was bound to work mighty hard to pay all hands of you for being so good.”
“I reckon that part of it will be all right, my son. We’re gettin’ full value for all we give.”
That which added to Benny’s pleasure was the fact that from the keeper to the cook, every member of the crew exhibited the liveliest joy because he was allowed to remain at the station, and an evening never to be forgotten by the lad was this which followed the receipt of the letter from headquarters.
Half a dozen times over was Tom Downey called upon to read the communication from their Chief, and if it be true that a person’s right ear tingles when good is spoken of them, the Superintendent of the Life-Saving Service must have been surprised because of the warmth of that organ.
Even amid the general rejoicing Benny found opportunity to study the Regulations and observing him at this work Sam Hardy proposed that Keeper Downey write an additional paragraph to the Station Bill.
“Benny must have a regular duty, and we’ll call him No. 8. Set down exactly what part he is to play, an’ let him learn it with the rest.”
That night when Benny, with Fluff in his arms, stood on the threshold to bid his kindly guardians a “good-night,” all hands replied in concert:
“Good-night, No. 8.”
“That means Fluff as well as me,” Benny cried with a laugh, and as he laid down to sleep that night “No. 8” was an exceedingly happy boy.