“Yes, but wait a minute.”
Miles hurried to the pump near the kitchen door. He gave his hands a douse of water, dried them quickly on a roller towel in the woodshed, and then came back to greet the brother of the boy of whom he was so fond.
“You got the telegram all right then?” he said. “Rex was so weak when he told me where to send it, I wasn’t sure I’d get it quite right.”
“I want to thank you for all you did for him,” went on Roy. “He’s told me about it, except the details. He said you’d do that—about what happened to him after he got out of the train. But don’t let me keep you from your dinner.”
“I’d rather talk to you than eat,” said Miles frankly.
Mrs. Raynor appeared at this moment and compromised matters by bringing Miles’ dinner to him out on the side porch. Roy sat by and listened to the recital, most modestly given, of the facts with which the reader is already acquainted.
It was time for Miles to return to his work when it was finished, and Florence came to summon Roy to their own dinner.
“Isn’t he queer?” she said, referring to Miles. “He seems so quiet and talks so well for a man who was—well, a tramp. I don’t know what else you could call him. You ought to have seen the clothes he had on when he first came. Mamma made him burn them.”
“He looks as if he might have an interesting story to tell,” commented Roy.
“We’ll get him to tell it to-night if your brother is well enough,” said Mrs. Raynor. “He promised that we should hear it as soon as Rex was able to listen too.”