“Well, through the influence of a friend, I got a position as tutor to the ward of a rich man who lives at Nyack. This young chap is very wealthy in his own right, or will be when he reaches the age of twenty-one. He has everything that a boy could wish for, and——”
“Oh, of course nobody could get along with a chap like that,” sniffed Joe. “Why, in our school——”
But Norman smiled.
“George Clayton is a most unmillionaire boy, if I may use the expression,” he said. “He always longed to be like others, in fact, wanted to rough it a bit. George is a bright, manly chap. Why, he’d be wild to go on a trip like yours.”
“Glad to hear it,” observed Joe. “Some boys wouldn’t have the nerve to brave the dangers of a wide stream like the Hudson.”
“We got along splendidly together,” continued Redfern, “and but for an unfortunate occurrence I should be his tutor still.” Norman stared reflectively at the floor for a moment; the light seemed to fade from his eyes, and, with a half sigh, he added, “But I was entirely blameless, and—and—well, his guardian did not view the matter in that light—and—so he fired me.”
“Humph! And why didn’t this George What’s-his-Name stand up for you?” demanded Jack, indignantly.
“He did. But his guardian is one of those men who, when they get an idea, stick to it. Unfortunately, I had no proof of my—my—I mean,” he added hastily, “of my being in the right. So that is the way my position as a tutor slipped away from me last spring.”
“Well, by George—no joke intended”—cried Bob, energetically—“I’d never let a thing like that drop; you bet I wouldn’t, eh, fellows? I’d follow it up till I showed this gentleman where he stood.”
“Wish I had a bit more of that spirit in me,” sighed Norman, “but the fact is, I’m not much of a fighter,” he added, with a faint smile. “The odds were against me, and I got discouraged.”