“Oh, yes,” replied Bruce Beresford, his whole face lighting up. “I’ve had such wonderful luck!”
“You look it, and I’m glad,” said Hiram. His friend of the swampy island certainly showed a great improvement, with good shoes on his feet, and wearing a neat suit of clothes. When Hiram had first met him Bruce had worn a big cap pulled closely down over his ears, clear to the nape of his neck. Just now, too, Hiram observed that his head back of his cheeks was well covered up. It gave Bruce a rather uncouth appearance and the young pilot of the Scout wondered why.
“I hope I’m not acting as if I was imposing on you, coming in on you in this way, and so soon,” began Bruce.
“Didn’t I invite you to do just that?” challenged Hiram.
“I know, but it looks sort of—well, cheeky, following you up when I owe so much to you as it is.”
“Don’t bother about that,” advised Hiram. “Tell me about that luck of yours. I’ll be interested.”
“Well, you know how I got little Lois comfortably settled at that children’s home at Benham. Then I started in to work. It was surprising how many little odd jobs a fellow can pick up who tries. I was just delighted, until the second day of my work when I happened to see a newspaper from Hillsboro—that is the town where Martin Dawson, the man who abused us so terribly, lives. There, in the paper, was an advertisement offering a reward for a runaway boy.”
“Meaning yourself, I suppose?” questioned Hiram.
“No one else. It scared me, I tell you, because—because,” and the speaker flushed up, and Hiram noticed that he ran his hand over the back of his head in a conscious sort of a way and seemed embarrassed. “Well, because there was a very good description of how I looked,” was added in a quick short breath.
“Thought they’d be after you, eh?” asked Hiram.