“No, sir,” murmured Willard.
“Well, he says he will buy the buff one for twelve dollars. That’s less than I hoped to get for them and maybe we might do a little better somewhere else. What do you think?”
“Yes, sir; I mean—I don’t know!” blurted Willard.
“Now in regard to the blue one——” Mr. Chase paused and looked across at the boy. What he saw seemed to please him, for he smiled. “I’ll read you what Watkins says about the blue one, Will. Let—me—see; here we are! ‘Of course you know you’ve got the prize of the year in the “black-on-blue.” I’ll take it off your hands if you want me to, but you’d probably do better at auction. The stamp is in perfect condition and, being on the original envelope, ought to fetch top price. There’s a big auction in December and you’d better let me list it for that if you want to sell it. Your letter doesn’t state whether you do or don’t. I’m keeping the stamps until I hear further. The last Alexandria Postmaster black-on-blue sold two years ago in this city to John Thayer Williams of Philadelphia. It was without envelope and slightly soiled. The price paid was twenty-six hundred. Your stamp ought to bring a couple of hundred more at least. Awaiting your instructions, respectfully yours, W. L. Watkins.’”
Mr. Chase folded the letter and smiled across at the boy.
“Well, what do you think of that, Will?” he asked.
Willard returned the smile rather tremulously.
“I think,” he began. Then he stopped, cleared his throat and began over again. “I think,” he said huskily, “that Grandma Pierson is going to send me to college after all, just as she promised!”