However, this newly developed modesty on Harry Brackett’s part did not prevent Mr. Carleton, driving along the road an afternoon or two later, from overtaking him and insisting that he get in and ride.
“Glad to see you,” said Mr. Carleton, as affably as he knew how. “Haven’t seen you around much for a day or two. Lobsters didn’t make you chaps sick, did they? Ha! ha!”
Harry Brackett flushed, and felt decidedly uncomfortable.
But he tried to laugh it off, and said he was feeling first rate.
“Well,” said Mr. Carleton, “you’re all right. I like to see a boy of spirit. I’m glad to have met you. I’m going to leave, to-morrow, by the way.”
Harry Brackett wouldn’t, for the world, have said how glad he was to hear of it. On the contrary, he said he was sorry; and added, that his father, the squire, would be sorry, too.
“I’ll be sorry to lose the squire’s company,” replied Mr. Carleton. “But don’t say anything to him about my going. That’s a peculiarity of mine; I don’t like to say good-bye to people. Sort of distresses me, don’t you know. That is, don’t say anything about it until after I am gone. Like as not, I shall not speak of it to anybody but you. Captain Sam, even, won’t know of it until I settle up with him, to-morrow.”
“How about Harvey and Henry Burns and that crowd?” inquired Harry Brackett.
“Why, the fact is,” replied Mr. Carleton, “we have had a little falling out. I’m sorry about it, too. They’re not such bad young chaps—except that Burns boy. He’s too notional—don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” said Harry Brackett, decidedly.