It did not trouble him much to think he was not likely to receive a call from his quondan schoolmate.
“Here is the balance of your money, Ropes,” said Dr. Sampson, drawing a small roll of bills from his pocket, later in the day. “I am quite willing to give you the odd thirty seven cents.”
“Thank you, doctor, but I shan’t need it.”
“You are poorly provided. Now I would pay you a good sum for some of your mother’s jewelry, as I told you last evening.”
“Thank you,” said Rodney hastily, “but I don’t care to sell at present.”
“Let me know when you are ready to dispose of the necklace.”
Here the depot carriage appeared in the street outside and Rodney with his gripsack in one hand and the precious casket in the other, climbed to a seat beside the driver.
His trunk he left behind, promising to send for it when he had found a new boarding place.
There was a chorus of good byes. Rodney waved his handkerchief in general farewell, and the carriage started for the depot.
“Be you goin’ for good?” asked Joel, the driver, who knew Rodney well and felt friendly to him.