Ralph was about to throw his fishing-rod into the closet with his foot-ball and base-ball, when he exclaimed, "Hold on; I will make my will, and leave that rod in the hall for Joe Chester. Here, give me a card! 'For Joe Chester.' There, that will please the little chap, and let him know I remember him. Now I must write to Bernard. Where's my portfolio? Oh, here. Well, now, what to say to him? That's a puzzler. Shall I say anything about you, Ben?"
"I suppose you'll have to; but I am not anxious to be remembered to him," was the laughing reply, as Ralph dipped his pen in the ink and wrinkled his brow, trying to think of the proper thing to say. "Tell him I'm just as bad as you are, and we thought we had both better get out from such a high-toned crowd."
"Well, it is a good crowd, Ben--a splendid set of boys, take them all together. You know it is. No; I am going to do the right thing, and confess without any nonsense. He won't think me any meaner than I think myself. I'll just say that you knew about it, and so thought you had better go too."
After dipping his pen and scowling again, he wrote hastily:--
"MR. BERNARD,--I can't go with you. Let Joe Chester go, please. I did the mischief, and was afraid to tell. Ban Carver knew about it, but did not do it. We are going off together. Please send our fathers word that we are safe.--Respectfully yours,
"RALPH DRAYTON.
"P.S.--I was never sorrier in my life, Mr. Bernard."
"There, Ben, how does that sound?" he asked, throwing the letter across the table to his companion.
"There, Ben, how does that sound?" he asked.