“Yes, sir,” replied Kid.
“Yes. Still, in view of your subsequent conduct, my boy, we will say no more about it. Only please remember that heroes obey orders, James. Will you try to remember that?”
“Yes, sir. And—and please, Doctor, would you mind not saying anything to my father about—about my earning money, sir?”
“Why—ah—if you feel that way about it, certainly not. But I shall write him about the rest, James. You don’t object to that, I trust?”
“No, sir; thank you, sir.”
“Yes. Well, that’s all then.” The Doctor shook hands. “Better run along now. Even heroes have duties, eh?”
Kid withdrew, dazed. The Sword of Damocles which he had imagined suspended over his head had turned out to be a wreath of laurel! Instead of a culprit he was a hero! The Doctor had not written to his father as he had intended and now he had agreed not to. Neither Mrs. Merton nor Mr. Folsom had, it seemed, acquainted the Doctor with the real reason of his illness. And, another favor from Fortune, only one boy, Comstock, a day pupil, had presented his box of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease for redemption! Kid made his way into the hall with his head held higher than it had been held for days.
“Io triumphus!” murmured Kid.
And then, just when he was triumphing, his eyes encountered the long line of bookshelves across the hall and the recollection of “Hairbreadth Harry” spoiled it all. But there was no time to rescue that daring adventurer, for the classes had already assembled, and all Kid could do was to throw a longing look in the direction of the Encyclopedia Britannica and hurry to the schoolroom.