“You'll do well then if you make as good a man as your father. He's one of the whitest men in the trade.”
Regie did not quite know what he meant by that, but hesitated to ask.
“Just how are you going to use this money?” asked Mr. Allan.
“For the hospital, sir. It costs seventy dollars a week to run it. The brig was wrecked last week, Wednesday you know, and Sister Julia says they will not be able to go before the middle of next week, so we need a hundred and forty dollars, and sixty dollars more for beds and other things.”
Mr. Allan re-opened the little book.
“I see,” he said, “that you have forty dollars promised already. I recognise Mr. Vale's hand in this first twenty. Are you free to tell who contributes the other?”
“The other twenty!” exclaimed Harry, looking over Mr. Allan's shoulder; “why, that is Regie's writing!”
Rex coloured up to the roots of his brown hair, as though he had been the most guilty of little culprits.
“I have ten dollars now of my own,” he stammered, “and I know of a way I can surely earn ten more when I get back to town, so I am going to ask Mr. Vale to lend me the money.”