Julian's grandfather was sent for, and there was a joyful reunion.
The leave-takings—always, some way sad they are—I omit. The three of us—Ray, Robert, and myself, made a quiet entry one night into our good old home town in Illinois. My father, who had returned from the southwest some days ago, on wired word from me, met us at the train; and he took us to the Reid home, where a little spread had been prepared.
It was when Mrs. Reid put her arms round Ray that I missed my mother most. But this good mother had a kiss for Robert and myself. Robert, you must know, was a full orphan.
There was consternation in the bank the next morning, when the three of us presented each a paper bearing amounts in six figures. They seemed to think that the receiving teller's cage would not do for such a transaction, but the business must be done in the directors' room, on the long table.
That afternoon the three of us went for a long row on the old Mississippi. We had things to discuss alone. It was Robert who finally opened the subject that was troubling us most.
"How much are we going to tell the world?" he said.
"Well," said Ray, giving his oar a vicious pull, "there's a lot of things I don't intend to tell, and——"
"But," I interrupted, "if you tell some things, and keep back some, people are going to wonder why."
"And," added Robert, "they'll fill in the blanks with all sorts of wild stuff that won't be very flattering—that's the way it goes."
And the discussion went on, till finally Ray put it flat, thus: