“John Kellogg.”
“I thought so!” exclaimed Mr. Bickford, excited.
“Why, I used to go to school to you, Mr. Kellogg.”
“It is nine years ago, and you must have changed so much that I cannot call you to mind.”
“Don’t you remember a tall, slab-sided youngster of thirteen, that used to stick pins into your chair for you to set on?”
Kellogg smiled.
“Surely you are not Joshua Bickford?” he said.
“Yes, I am. I am that same identical chap.”
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Bickford,” said his old school-teacher, grasping Joshua’s hand cordially.
“It seems kinder queer for you to call me Mr. Bickford.”