“You are hungry, I reckon. Come into the hotel, and we’ll have dinner.”
Nothing loath, Grant followed Tom into the dining-room, where dinner was laid in readiness for the stage passengers. It was not such a meal as an epicure would enjoy, but Grant ate with great relish.
“So you have been doing well, Tom?” said Grant, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes; you didn’t tell father what I wrote you?”
“No; you told me not to.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He said that he didn’t believe you were doing much; he thought you had better come back to Sacramento and help him in the shop.”
Tom laughed.
“I think I’ll stay here a little longer,” he replied. “How is dad doing?”
“Finely. He is making ten dollars a day.”