“Do you know?” asked Reginald, as he met him in the doorway.
“Yes; Mr. Sydney came around to us this morning. I can’t understand it. But I don’t want you to feel—”
Miles hesitated. It was very embarrassing for him to express just what he wanted to say. Rex helped him out.
“I’m awfully glad for you, old fellow,” he said heartily. “And I don’t want you to worry about us. We’ll get along some way.”
“But that won’t do,” Miles persisted. “If it hadn’t been for you I might have been a common tramp now and never found my father.”
“And if it hadn’t been for you I would probably have been dead long ago,” Rex retorted. “So you see we’re quits.”
“No, we’re not, and I don’t want that we should, till I give you what I think you ought to have. Father says I may and—”
“Miles Harding—Darley, I mean, if you do that I’ll—I’ll never speak to you again. There, take your choice—quits or my friendship.”
Rex’s pride conquered. Miles was still his slave.
“I’ll never say another word about it, Rex,” he replied meekly, and for the first time Reginald felt that he could face poverty bravely.