“I needn’t smoke or drink if I don’t want to,” he argued. “I haven’t done it yet. Besides, it will do me good to see a little of the world.”
He rose from the sofa, lighted the gas, and just as he had done that day when he had heard who was Mr. Tyler’s heir, he collected the money from his different pockets and counted it up. His allowance was a liberal one, and he had been saving up to buy a birthday present for his mother.
“Seven dollars and forty cents,” he repeated to himself. “I wonder how much the fare will be.”
He put on his hat and went down stairs.
“Where are you going, Rex?” asked his mother, as he passed the group who were sitting on the front porch, for it was a sultry evening.
“Only down the street a little way. I’ll be right up,” he replied.
“I wonder if Harrington’s people ask him where he’s going every step he takes,” he muttered to himself as he strode off.
He forgot the five years’ difference in their ages; thought only of the surveillance under which he chafed.
He kept on till he reached the hotels, and entering one of them, he hunted around till he found a railway guide.
A short consultation of this apprized him of the fact that he had enough to pay his fare to New Haven and back, but very little more.