"There are awfully good fellows doing it here. You've seen me and Henry," Jo went on humorously, "and a son of one of the professors is a janitor and the nephew of another one is waiting on table at the same cottage I am, and—"
"Oh, I wouldn't be ashamed to do anything honest," Roger said quickly. "I was thinking about Mother. You see with Father in Mexico I sort of have to be the man of the family. I shouldn't want to undertake things that would keep me from being useful to her."
"And you've got a good house here so you don't need a room, so I guess I'll just run along," answered Jo.
"Wait a minute," cried Roger. "Let me speak to Mother."
Just at that moment Mrs. Morton came out on the porch, a little frown of anxiety on her face.
"Here you are, Roger—and you, too,—Mr.—"
"Sampson," filled in Jo.
"Mr. Sampson. I came out to consult with you, Roger. It seems to me that the room in the top story that I counted on for you is going to be so warm that you can't possibly sleep there. I wish you'd run up and look at it."
Roger's face burst into a happy smile.
"Good enough, Mother, I hope it is a roaster," he cried.