He had entered the store and approached them unobserved.
“Don’t you let me catch you tryin’ to light out of here before I give you leave, or I’ll be the death of you. What do you mean, anyway, by hangin’ over the counter and idlin’ your time away when there’s a dozen things you might be doin’? Go into the kitchen now and peel the taters for Mrs. Maslin; d’ye hear?” And he seized the boy roughly by the arm and swung him into the middle of the store.
“I’ll try and see you later, Dick, before I go,” said Joe, holding out his hand to his chum.
“I don’t think you will, young man,” said Silas Maslin, significantly. “My help hain’t got no time to waste on visitors.”
“I guess he’s got a right to say good-bye to a friend,” retorted Joe, indignantly.
“Then he’d better say it right now afore you go,” said the storekeeper, ungraciously.
“Well, Dick,” said Joe, bottling up his wrath, for he realized that Mr. Maslin was master of the situation, “good-bye, if I don’t see you again.”
“Good-bye, Joe,” and the two boys clasped hands sadly.
“I’ll write to you and let you know where I am and what I’m doing,” said Joe.
“I hope you will. Be sure I sha’n’t forget you.”