Two weeks had passed by and still Artie was unable to return to school.
His foot was slow in mending and he still limped about painfully.
“I ought to be able to get out by spring at least,” he called cheerfully
to Westy, who was on his way home from school.
“Aw, don’t get discouraged, Art,” Westy returned feelingly, as he walked
up to the Van Arlen residence and seated himself alongside of Artie in
the porch swing. “You’ll be out before Thanksgiving, I bet.”
“Gee, I hope so anyway!” Artie doubtfully exclaimed. “Still, I’d be
worse off if I was dead.”
“Now you’re saying something!” Westy put in, feeling a pang of
conscience, for before he had reached Artie’s home he was wondering how
he would tell him of the proposition his father had put up to him. It
wouldn’t be sporting to tell him now, he thought. It would be better not
to tell him at all--that is not until his foot was entirely better and
by that time perhaps he would have considered the matter thoroughly and
decide to the contrary.
Not that Westy had contemplated anything definite as yet. Oh, no! But he
had pondered it over until he couldn’t think of anything else and was at
his wit’s end between wanting to go and the debt he owed to Artie.
He thought as he neared home that it was a bit of luck that Artie had
not brought up the subject.
That night, Mr. Martin again broached the conversation along those
lines.
“Son,” he said, looking straight at Westy and with decision, “you have
until the end of this week to make up your mind as to whether you prefer
going with Archie or staying home this summer.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Westy sadly.
“Archie has told me,” Mr. Martin resumed, “that he will decide Sunday as
to where in the West he wants to go. He’s going to get some booklets
from the different railroads and then he will start next week to make
reservations.”
“Why next week, when summer is such a long way off?” Westy queried.
“Why? Because, my dear boy, Mr. Captroop is a very unusual young man and
thoroughly conservative in everything he does. Consequently, he’s not
putting off until the last minute what can be done next week and,
furthermore, he always makes sure of where and what he’s going to do
before he starts out.”
“Quite a remarkable person,” Mrs. Martin remarked with a hint of sarcasm
in her voice.
Mother-like, Mrs. Martin resented Archie Captroop being held up as an
example to her son, for his lovable romantic and non-conservative traits
were the very things that endeared him to her most.
Doris Martin, who was expecting the cause of the discussion to call on
her that certain Wednesday evening, entered the room.
“Well,” she said, “I hope Mr. Captroop takes me somewhere this evening
instead of sitting around buzzing like a stock ticker!”
“You ought to be thankful,” said Mr. Martin, “that he saves his money
instead of throwing it away on some senseless movie that doesn’t teach
you anything. My motto is never to spend your money on something that
doesn’t bring you a full return.”
“Horrors, Father!” exclaimed Doris. “You talk like a confirmed
moralist.”
The door bell rang its warning of Archie’s arrival, so she hurried to
the door.
“Do not speak about it to-night,” Mr. Martin warned Westy. “It would be
more proper for you to go to his house and extend the invitation--that
is, if you have decided,” he added meaningly.
The strains of some popular waltz were drifting in from the living room,
so Westy knew it meant that Archie Captroop would add one more dollar to
his savings account that evening.
He decided to go up to his room, as his mother was busily sewing and
non-committal. She was heartily in sympathy with her son, but she dared
not show it.
The first book Westy picked up in his room was the one Artie had been
telling about and loaned to him two weeks ago. He had not read it
before, for he thought it would only be adding insult to injury and also
too tempting.
But he could not resist it this particular evening with the fate of this
promised adventure lying in the hollow of his hand.
In the dark silence of his room some hours later he argued the point
with himself, that he couldn’t have much fun with that “Claptrap” guy if
he did go, for he’d probably want to sit around like some old lady and
not want to do anything but read the whole time.
“Still,” a little voice inside him whispered, “it’s far better than
staying home, isn’t it?”
“I suppose that’s right,” Westy declared, weakening. Then feeling a
little mean for giving voice to the thought he added: “I could ask
Archie Saturday afternoon and I wouldn’t have to say anything to Artie
about it, for a while, anyway!”
So Westy made his decision.