It seemed to him humiliating to receive any favors from a poor boy like Andy Grant.
Two weeks later, when Andy went over to the hotel, as usual, to meet his employer and pupil, Mr. Gale said:
"I have some news for you."
"I hope it is good news."
"I don't know that you will consider it so. I shall have to leave you for a time."
Andy's face fell. This certainly was bad news.
"I have received a letter this morning," continued Walter Gale, "from an uncle living in the interior of Pennsylvania. He is not an old man—I don't think he is much over fifty—but he writes me that he is near his end. The doctor says he may live three months, certainly not over six. He has always been a bachelor, and I believe owns coal mines of considerable value. I was always a favorite of his, and now that he is so sick he wants me to go out and be with him in the closing weeks of his life."
"I suppose you will go?" said Andy, and he looked very sober.
"I think it is my duty—don't you?"
"Yes, I suppose it is your duty."