It was likely Mrs. Dryer would have another opportunity to say: “I told you so.”
The first thing that George Brayton had to say to the principal, when he met him in the Academy chapel, was to announce that he had been summoned out of town and might be gone for several days.
“I do not see how I shall be able to spare you at present,” remarked the Doctor, coldly, and Zeb Fuller would have noted the disuse of long words.
“It is imperative,” said Brayton. “I cannot help myself.”
“But what will the trustees say to such a dereliction?” asked the Doctor.
“I don’t know that I care much,” was the somewhat nettled reply; “but as they are fair and right-minded men, they will doubtless approve my going.”
Here was something for Mrs. Dryer; but the Doctor was not the man to face so decided an answer, and he turned the subject with:
“But where is your young friend, Mr. Vernon? Manning is over yonder, in his proper place.”
“Vernon?” said Brayton. “Isn’t he here? That’s strange. Well, he’ll turn up. I’m exceedingly sorry, Dr. Dryer, but this is a matter which may involve a large sum of money. I must take the next stage.”
There was really no help for it, but it might have interested George Brayton if he had known that Bar, with a “traveling bag,” which he had ready packed for days, had waited, his telegram in his pocket, just below Runner’s tavern that morning, and had taken the early stage from the North without losing time in making arrangements with Dr. Dryer.