In the pocket of each youth reposed a bank book showing healthy deposits to their credit. More than six thousand dollars each in the name of Jay Thacker and Richard Monaghan—this from the Bridgeford Salvage Company for the splendid work the young divers had done throughout the summer! Enough to carry each young man through preparatory school and on into college!
"But those friendships are not counted in terms of dollars and cents, are they, chum?" said Dick Monaghan, with just a trace of a lump in his throat as he indicated the group of friends on the station platform. The train was moving out. Larry Seymour—good old Larry—had staged the farewell.
It might have been a cinder in Jay's eye; at any rate, he was blinking hard as the train gathered speed.
"You said a whole heaping mouthful that time," replied Jay, trying to laugh off the flood of emotion that welled up in him.
Up in the baggage coach ahead, a skinny brown hound, accustomed to making the best of every situation, winked at the baggage agent and curled himself up for a snooze and a dream of the new life to come at Brighton Academy.
THE END