“Where’s Charley?” I asked.
“Sick,” was the short answer.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Down with a cold, or something.”
And we had this surly servant for ever so long to come: and I’m sorry to say got so accustomed to seeing his face as to forget sick Charley.
II.
“Will you go up the river for a row, Johnny?”
“I don’t mind if I do.”
The questioner was Bill Whitney; who had come in to look for Tod. I had nothing particular on hand that afternoon, and the skies were blue and the sun golden. So we went down to the river together.