“Well, he was certainly grateful! He made me feel—feel like crawling under the hotel verandah! And he was decent about your father, Tom.”
“Yes, but he should have been. I just told him we didn’t want his money and were glad we’d been able to help all we could. And then I said that if he really thought he owed us anything he could see that father got his reappointment as postmaster.”
“And what was it he said? ‘You tell John that he needn’t move out of there until he gets good and ready’; wasn’t that it?”
Tom nodded. “Something like that. What time is it getting to be?”
“There’s four minutes yet. I say, Tom, you’ll write real often, won’t you? And let me know everything that’s going on. I wish we had more money on hand. That’s sort of worrying me.”
Tom smiled. “Well, we haven’t much of a balance in the bank, and that’s a fact. After we pay that insurance premium to-morrow, we’ll have about twenty dollars to our name. But you needn’t worry about that. We’ll make more fast enough. And about everything’s paid for up to date,—except that you still have twenty-five dollars coming to you.”
“There’s no hurry about that,” returned Willard. “And let me know how you get along with the football team, Tom. Wasn’t it fine, their electing you captain?”
“Flattering,” laughed Tom, “but awkward. I told the silly chumps I wouldn’t have time for it but they wouldn’t listen to me. Have you heard how George is getting on?”
“Mother said he was doing finely. But it will be three or four weeks before he can be out again. Is that the whistle?”