“Yes.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“He said we must remember that we know absolutely nothing about farming, or the life out West and that we would need all the friends we could make. Then he quoted that line about having a thousand friends but never a friend to spare, and said he wished me to tell you what he had written, so that you would not spoil our chances of success, on Momsy’s account.”
“Phew! Did he put it as strongly as that? Let me see the letter.”
“You wouldn’t like to read it. I—I’ve toned it down a bit, but I’ve given the substance of it.” Phil, however, was insistent, and at last, though with evident reluctance, his brother handed over the letter.
Twice and yet a third time the former baseball captain read the caustic criticisms of himself.
“Was I really such a cad as Blair makes out, Ted?”
“Well, you were Parker’s star athlete, you know, and for that reason people overlooked a lot of things,” temporized his brother.
“Wow! Then I guess I was. But I won’t be any more. Much obliged, son, for opening my eyes. Let’s shake on it.”
“Not unless you stop ‘sonning’ me. That’s too condescending. It’s as easy to say Ted as ‘son.’”