“That’s fine,” answered Nelson heartily. “You’ll like it, I’m sure. Maybe you can get up this year while I’m there. I wish you would. I’d be glad to show you around.”
“This year? No, I couldn’t do that. You see, I’ll have to earn some money first; three hundred dollars, you said, didn’t you?”
“Oh, you mean you’re going to enter?” asked Nelson.
“Yes, I’m goin’ to school there. You see”—Jerry paused and looked thoughtfully out into the afternoon sunlight—“you see, mother always intended me to have an education, an’—an’ I’m agoin’ to have it!” he added doggedly. “I’m goin’ to get out of here; there ain’t nothin’ here; I’m goin’ to get a place on a farm and earn some money. I guess one year there would help, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would,” answered Nelson earnestly. “And I dare say if you got through one year, you’d find a way to get through the next. Lots of fellows pretty near work their way through school. Look here, Jerry, supposing I wanted to write to you, where could I direct a letter?”
“Dad gets his mail at Bakerville. I guess if you wrote my name and his name and sent it to Bakerville, I’d get it. I—I’d like first rate to get a letter from you. I ain’t never got very many letters.”
“Well, I’ll write you one,” said Nelson cheerfully. “I shall want to know how you’re getting along, so you must answer it. Will you?”
Jerry reddened under his tan.
“I guess so,” he muttered. “But I ain’t much of a writer. You see, I ain’t never seemed to have much time for writin’.”