"That's a fine way t' take th' news that you're goin' t' lose your dear teacher," Bill said reproachfully.
"Oh, of course I'm sorry that John is going away, but just think, there'll be no more lessons," Whitey answered.
"O' course," Bill said, and he looked at the boy in a very peculiar way.
But Whitey was too excited to notice the look. "What's John going for?" he asked.
"Your father's sent for him," answered Bill. Mr. Sherwood's business had again taken him to the big city. "An' now that this here gold mine's turnin' out so well," Bill continued, "an' John has some money, your father don't think it's fair t' keep him here teachin' a couple o' kids, when there's a big openin' for John right there in New York. An' it seems your father's got John some job as a chemist, though goin' into a drug store don't seem no big openin' t' me," Bill added thoughtfully.
"John isn't going to be a drug clerk," Whitey said, disgusted at Bill's ignorance. Whitey knew something of the big Indian's ambitions, having heard him discuss them with Mr. Sherwood. "Father probably has heard of an opening in some college, where John can become an instructor in chemistry."
Bill didn't know what that meant, either, but, not wishing to display his ignorance further, he said hastily, "Oh, that's diff'runt."
"When's John going?" demanded Whitey.
"Right off. Gonna drive him t' th' Junction to-day."
"Then no more lessons!" cried Whitey. "We'll be off for a hunting trip. I hear Moose Lake is just loaded with wild geese. Where's Injun? I must run and tell him."