Merriman asked about the new quarters and Joe supplied a drily humorous description of them. The room began to grow dark and the boy’s faces became only lighter blurs in the twilight. Tess went to sleep and snored loudly. Myron listened more than he talked, conscious of the comfortable, home-like atmosphere of the queer, illy-furnished room and putting off from minute to minute the return to school. But at last the town clock struck six and Joe lifted the terrier from his stomach, in spite of protests, and swung his feet to the floor.
“I’ve got to be going,” he announced. “Haven’t peeked into a book since Friday.” He yawned cavernously. “You coming along, Foster?”
“Yes, I guess so.” Myron was glad to be asked, but he was careful to keep any trace of cordiality from his voice.
“Well, come again,” said Merriman heartily. “Both of you. Sunday’s an off-day with me and you’ll usually find me in about noon.”
“Me? I’ll be back,” declared Joe. “I haven’t enjoyed a meal since I left home like I enjoyed that dinner. Brother, you sure can cook sausages!”
“I like that guy,” said Joe when he and Myron were traversing the poorly-lighted street that led toward school. “He don’t have any too easy a time of it, either, Foster.”
“No, I guess coaching isn’t much fun,” Myron agreed.
“Well, he told me he liked it. Maybe he has to. He says he’s put himself clean through school that way. His father and mother are both dead and the only kin he’s got is an old aunt who lives out West somewhere. He says she’s got a right smart lot of money, but the only thing she ever does for him is send him six handkerchiefs every Christmas. Says it’s a big help, though, because he doesn’t have to buy any. He’s a cheerful guy, all right, and the fellows hit on a swell name for him.”
“What’s that?” asked Myron.