Sandy’s birthday dawned hot, but clear, with a good, steady south wind blowing.
The rich man had not forgotten Sandy. A fine set of books awaited him at the breakfast table, a set of engineering books that he would prize and study for many years.
Larry’s remembrance, a radium-dial wrist watch, and Dick’s gift, the set of drawing implements he coveted, delighted him. Jeff’s modest but earnestly presented “luck charm” secured from his gypsy fortune teller was accepted with a grave, grateful word—but Sandy had hard work not to break into a wild laugh.
“How old are you, buddy,” Jeff asked.
“Thirteen!”
Jeff’s face grew sober.
“And this is Friday!” he murmured.
“Surely it is,” laughed Larry, and then, in a lower tone, he urged, “now, Jeff——”
“No, sir! I won’t go up, today, even if you did plan to surprise——”
“You would spoil it!” Larry was unable to keep from being annoyed, almost angry, because Jeff had spoiled a surprise.