“That’s nice of you, Will, but I couldn’t take one as a gift. I’ll gladly buy one if I can afford it. Or—wait a bit! If this blue one is worth what I think it is, I’ll accept one of the buff stamps as a present. How will that do?”
“I’d like you to have one anyhow, sir. Do you think the blue stamp is worth—worth a hundred dollars?” asked Willard.
“Will, I don’t dare to say. Yes, perhaps a hundred; perhaps more, much more—unless I’m making a bad mistake somehow. I’ll mail these to-morrow and we ought to hear inside a week. Now—now let’s get back to the lesson.”
But Willard didn’t make much progress that evening.
III
Of course Mrs. Morris remembered when Willard told her.
“Isn’t it funny?” she asked beamingly. “It all comes back to me now. When I went to clear off the table those envelopes were there and I thought to myself, ‘Those are Will’s and he may want them after all, and I’ll just tuck them in his Greek book.’ It was lying on the side table there. And then I forgot all about it! I’m so sorry, Will!”
“It doesn’t matter a bit now,” Willard declared. “How much do you suppose that blue stamp will be worth, mother?”
But Mrs. Morris shook her head. “Goodness knows, Will! But maybe it’ll bring enough to buy you a nice suit of clothes and——”