Billy had not grown up in the vineyard country of California without learning something of Italian peasantry, and he had not worked a week before he knew the men had a grievance. He got an Italian primer and a phrase book, and utilized his time on the car, which was nearly two hours each day, for studying, with the result of being shortly able to catch the drift of most that was said around him. So it was that as the Summer passed he learned and reported enough of their crude plottings to keep Mr. Smith on his guard.
When Billy arrived home a second letter from Erminie awaited him, and again behind his locked door he read it, wondering as he tore it open, that he did not feel the same excited hurry as over the first one. It was the unsatisfactory letter of one unaccustomed to correspondence and without the natural gift for it, yet it was surprising enough.
“Dearest Billy:
“Here is five dollars more. I’ll be able to pay up soon now, for Cousin Will got me a job. It has seemed a long time to wait, six weeks; but I’m doing just as you said in that letter of instruction, Billy.
“I want to tell you again, Billy, that I would rather have faced it out with you, because I wasn’t afraid to stand up to anybody about that night, with you so splendid to me. It’s all right. Whatever you say goes about that business.
“I can’t understand yet how it was you knew all about the circular, and had it all planned out—what I was to do—before you went on the scout. None of us knew about it, the dodger I mean, till Saturday night. And how was it, Billy, that you had me send the key to a place away over in North City? I didn’t know any of your friends lived over there. The way I put it up is that some one there is to act in the club pro tem, for you this Summer, while you are working.
“I like my work just fine. Such a jolly bunch, hayseeds of course, but I’m getting so I don’t mind that. And they’re all so nice to me, especially the boys. But Cousin Will don’t let any of ’em get funny. They all think I’m his steady.
“I’m sending a letter to ma in this. Please mail it. I expect she’s about crazy. I sent one to the home number. I had to do that, Billy, if you did tell me not to. That wasn’t a bit like you, Billy. But the letter came back. If this goes to the general delivery maybe she’ll get it. You’ll send it, won’t you, Billy? She’s lost her home, you know; I saw it in the paper. Or Will did.
“So long, dear Billy. Don’t forget me, though I’m not worth remembering. I think a lot of you. If I amount to anything it’ll be a lot because of you.
“Cousin Will is dandy to me, so thoughtful,—lots like you, only he’s a hayseed too; but I don’t mind that; I’m getting used to it. He’s twenty-four.