"And I can have all these years I'd be spending at college in learning the business," Ben hurried on, feeling if he didn't say something, he should surely break down; for there was such a world of pleading in the black eyes that he didn't dare to trust himself to look into them. "Don't you see, Mother? Besides,—well, I just can't do it."
When Ben called her "Mother," it always meant something requiring grave attention. So Mrs. Fisher knew as well then as afterward that it was a decided thing that Ben was to leave school and go into a business life. All she said now was, "Come," leading the way to the roomy old sofa, where the children used often to tell their troubles or joys to her as they sat side by side.
When Ben emerged from his mother's room, he held his head high, but his breath came hard, and one fist deep in his pocket was clenched tightly.
"Halloo!"—Joel plunged into him; "where've you been?" And, not waiting for a reply, "Grandpapa says I'm to go if you'll go with me,"—he swarmed all over him in his eagerness.
"Get off, Joe!" cried Ben, roughly. It seemed as if he couldn't bear any more just then, and he gave him, without stopping to think, a little shove.
Joel looked at him with very wide eyes.
"You're always hanging on to me," went on Ben, crossly, not realizing a word he was saying. "Goodness me, a chap can't stir but you must pop up."
Joel stood perfectly still, plastered against the wall, his mouth open, but not equal to uttering a word, as Ben stalked on down the hall.
"Oh, you think you're smart, I s'pose," at last it came in a burst behind him. "Well, I don't want you to go with me, Mr. Ben Pepper—Mr. Ebenezer Pepper." Joel could hardly get the long name out, being so wholly unaccustomed to its use. "And I will tell Grandpapa I wouldn't have you go with me for anything."
"Joel!" Ben called hoarsely after him, whirling in his tracks to see Joel fly down the hall. "Oh, come back."