Finally he alone remained of the big encampment. The tents had gradually been struck and carted away to the government storehouse, but Danny’s tent, with him lazily clinging to the ropes, still remained to show the place that once had sheltered the Dorfield Regiment. One day the inspector noticed this and mustered Danny out, too; but that didn’t seem to make any difference to Danny. He had money, probably left from his pay, so he still occupied the weather-beaten old tent and carted his provisions from the village stores, cooking them himself and gossiping with his old comrades when they were not busy.
“What you goin’ to do, Danny?” he was asked again and again.
“Don’t know yet,” was always the careless reply. “Government seems to have forgot me just now, so I guess I’ll jus’ hang around here this summer and when winter comes, go up to New York and see what’s goin’ on over there. I’m in no great hurry.”
“Why don’t you get a job in Dorfield? It’s a pretty good place and living is cheaper than in New York.”
“Money don’t interest me much,” was the careless answer. “What a fellow needs is to see life an’ make the most of it. If you’re happy, money don’t count.”
“Are you happy now?” they asked him.
“Oh, fairly so, but I’m gettin’ tired doing nothing at all; may skip out of Dorfield any day, now.”
More than ever, old Mr. Hathaway had met and studied Danny Dexter and disliked him; and more and more Mary Louise had seen him in the stores and found him worthy her consideration. Often at dinner or breakfast the girl and her grandfather spoke of him and disagreed about him.
“We needn’t adopt him for good, you know,” said Mary Louise. “Just for a few months to see how he works in. And he needn’t be one of the family or eat with us. He can work in the garden and keep the front yard cleared up, and in that way he’ll get his living and fair wages.”
“Well,” said Gran’pa Jim, “I’ll speak to Danny Dexter in the morning.”