“Of course I like him, but the cheek of it all,” and Theodore strode over to the window to think matters over. It was a fine thing anyway in Harold, he admitted to himself, not to have run him down to Uncle Fritz. If he was angry enough to take matters into his own hands in this way, it was a wonder he stopped short of telling him the truth about himself—not that Ted for a moment faced that truth in any honest fashion; for he was a very good fellow still in his own estimation. He had simply not taken Harold into account—no one could have expected that he should; but now it seemed the boy was beginning to resent that state of affairs. There was some show of reason in it, too, and he rather admired his spirit. It was rather natural, perhaps, that he should want to have “his turn,” as he said; very well, he should have it. For that matter, he would be rather glad himself to see something of Uncle Fritz. He had not really decided to ask any of the fellows down for the summer, though he had angrily made a declaration to that effect. Indeed, there was some talk of their going over the Continent together instead, which would be a deal more fun. All this while Harold sat motionless and silent.
“The mean part of it is, that you didn't tell me beforehand what you wanted to do,” said Ted, as the upshot of the thinking.
“What I wanted to do has not made any difference to you this long time. Besides, you would have told me I couldn't do it.”
“Of course I would” (for, as it often happens, it is easier to be reasonable in thinking than in speaking); “and I can tell you one thing, Harold, you'll be sick enough of your own bargain before it is over. What do you know about Marie-Celeste? Ten to one she's a spoiled, forward sort of youngster. American children are a handful always.”
“I'll risk it,” answered Harold; “and I only ask one thing of you, Ted, and that is that you'll be decent to them when they come.”
“Like as not I won't be here.”
Harold's face fell. It would seem such a breach of hospitality for Ted not to be at home, at least to welcome them. But, never mind, he could explain to Uncle Fritz, if he must, what an independent life Ted had led these last few years. He would hurt himself more than any one else by acting so ungraciously.
“Who's going to pay for things here at home, I'd like to know?” said Ted, after another few minutes of meditation. “There isn't enough of my allowance left now to tide me over to the first of the year, let alone running the house in fine style all summer.”
“You need not bother about that—there's enough of mine, and I can look after my own guests, which is more than you did for yours last year.” It was a mean little thrust, perhaps, on Harold's part, but Ted deserved it, for Harold had paid his half of the heavy expenses of the previous summer without a murmur.
Be it said to Ted's honor that he appreciated the situation, and colored up to the roots of his hair.