“Why, bless my life!” exclaimed the other. “What am I thinking about? Why, of course he did!” Saying this, Mr. Deometari’s companion rose to his feet, and caught sight of Joe Maxwell as he did so. Instantly he laid his hand on Mr. Deometari’s shoulder and remarked:
“It is fine weather for birds and boys.”
Joe was not at all disconcerted. He was not eavesdropping, though he was very much interested in what he had heard. The way to interest a boy thoroughly is to puzzle him, and Joe was puzzled.
“I saw Mr. Pruitt last night,” he remarked, and then, as his old friend turned, he said:
“How do you do, Mr. Deo? You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”
Joe advanced and offered his hand. As Mr. Deometari took it, the frown cleared away from his face.
“Why, my dear boy!” he exclaimed, pulling the lad toward him and giving him a tremendous hugging, “I am delighted to see you! I could count on my ten fingers the people who are left to call me Deo. And if I counted, my boy, you may be sure I’d call your name long before I got to my little finger. Why, I’m proud of you, my boy! They tell me you write the little paragraphs in the paper credited to ‘The Countryman’s Devil’? Not all of them! Ah, well! it is honor enough if you only write some of them. Forget you, indeed!”
Mr. Deometari’s greeting was not only cordial but affectionate, and the sincerity that shone in his face and echoed in his words brought tears to Joe Maxwell’s eyes.
“Blandford,” said Mr. Deometari, “you ought to know this boy. Don’t you remember Joe Maxwell?”
“Why, yes!” said Mr. Blandford, showing his white teeth and fixing his big black eyes on Joe. “He used to fight shy of me, but I remember him very well. He used to stand at the back of my chair and give me luck when I played draughts.”