Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy

by William O. Stoddard

"Why, mother," he exclaimed, when he got a chance for a word, "you and
Annie couldn't have said much more if I'd been the pig himself!"

"The pig!" said Annie.

"Yes, the pig that stopped us. He and the engine won't go home to their families to-night."

"Don't make fun of it, Ford," said his mother gently. "It's too serious a matter."

Just then his father broke in, almost impatiently, with,—

"Well, Ford, my boy, have you done your errand? or shall I have to see about it myself? You've been gone two days."

"Thirty-seven hours and a half, father," replied Ford, taking out his watch. "I've kept an exact account of my expenses. We've saved the cost of advertising."

"And spent it on railroading," said his father, with a laugh.

"But, Ford," asked Annie, "did you find a house?—a good one?"

"Yes," added Mrs. Foster: "now I'm sure you're safe, I do want to hear about the house."