“Good for you! But look here, take that check and get out. It isn’t your funeral, you know. And besides, ten dollars isn’t to be sneezed at. If every fellow in the class gave ten dollars——”
“But you know every fellow can’t!” broke in Peter. “You know lots of them can’t afford to give anything! But you can, Morris; you can afford to give what you promised—more than that.”
“Oh, leave off!” said Morris. “Run along with your check, like a good little boy.”
Peter hesitated; then he folded the slip of paper and placed it in his pocket. Taking the pen, he dipped it into the ink and wrote a receipt. Then he faced Morris again.
“Yes, I’ll take this on account. But I’ve got to have ninety more,” he said, doggedly. “And I’m going to have it. I’m going to keep at it until I get it. You’ve got to do what is right, Morris!”
“You’re like what’s-his-name’s raven,” sighed the other. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When you get a hundred dollars out of me for the crew, I’ll—I’ll give you another fifty!” He laughed uproariously.
Peter strode to the door, and when he reached it turned and faced Morris impressively.
“Remember your promise!”
The door closed sternly behind him. Morris dropped into the armchair and laughed until the tears came. That was on Thursday.