GOOD NEWS
"Will you have some more of this roast beef, Mr. Larabee?" asked Paul,
doing the honors for Dick, who was busy over the letter from his father.
"Wa'al, I might have a bit more. It seems like pretty tender meat."
"Yes, we get the very best at Kentfield."
"Hum! If I was runnin' this place I'd buy the cheaper cuts, and save
money. Tough meat is better for growing lads, anyhow. I wouldn't give
'em such expensive meat."
"But we pay for it, Mr. Larabee."
"It's a waste of money," replied the miser, and went on with the meal,
which, to do Dick justice, was exceptionally good. Dick never believed
in starving even his ill-natured relatives.
"Hurray! This is great!" suddenly exclaimed the young millionaire.
"Whoop! Oh, I say, excuse me, Uncle Ezra!" he added, quickly. "I didn't
mean to startle you," for the aged man had jumped at Dick's exclamation,
and some potato, covered with gravy, had fallen on his trousers.
"That's jest like you boys--allers shoutin' and makin' a noise," rasped
out Mr. Larabee. "I'll have to pay for havin' that spot taken out," and
he scrubbed vigorously at it with a napkin. "That is, unless my hired
man can start it with some of my harness soap. I guess I'll have him try
when I get back. No use payin' a cleaner if my hired man can do it."
"I'm sorry, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick, contritely, and trying not to smile
at Paul Drew. "We can take it out here for you. A little ether will do
the trick. It will dissolve the grease. I'll take you to the chemical
laboratory after lunch."
"No, the ether might eat a hole in my pants, and they're my second best
ones. I'll wait until I git hum, and try the harness soap. Next time
please don't yell so."
"I won't, Uncle Ezra. But dad sent me some good news, and I just
couldn't help it."
"Is he going to take you to Europe this vacation?" asked Paul.
"Europe! You don't mean to tell me that Mortimer Hamilton is going to
waste money on another trip to Europe?" cried Mr. Larabee, in horror.
"No, it isn't that," answered Dick. "He writes that as he sees by my
reports I have done well this term, I may have just what I've been
wanting a long time."
"To go into some business, I hope," said Mr. Larabee. "That would be a
sensible present, and I could offer you a place in my woolen mill at a
salary of----"
"No, thank you, Uncle Ezra," laughed Dick. "I think I'll stay here at
Kentfield for another term yet."
"But what is it your father is going to give you?" asked Paul. "Don't
keep us in suspense."
"It's a touring car!" cried Dick, in delight. "He says I can select the
best and biggest car made, and send the bill to him. Hurray! Isn't that
great news? Say, I can just about see where my vacation is coming in
now, Paul."
"That's right. You are in luck!"
"A touring car!" cried Mr. Larabee. "You mean an automobile, Dick? Why
you've got one already. It would be a shameful waste of money to buy
another. You can take what a touring car would cost, and invest the sum
in some good securities. I have some that I acquired from that young man
I spoke of to-day."
"I haven't a touring car," said Dick. "I have that little runabout; but
it isn't much use. A touring car for mine!"
"Oh, the sinful waste of this rising generation!" murmured Uncle Ezra,
shaking his head, sadly.
"What kind of a car is he going to give you, Dick?" asked Paul.
"He says I can pick it out myself. I'll read you that part of the
letter," and Dick quoted from the missive:
"'I have been thinking of something you might like, Dick, as a sort
of reward for your good work at school this winter. I know you have
studied hard. I had a man come here to look over your runabout,
thinking perhaps it could be fixed up, but he says it is hardly
worth it. He advised trading it in for a new and up-to-date
machine, and I think that best myself.
"'I want you to be satisfied with what I get you, and I think the
best way would be to let you pick it out yourself. So if you will
look over some catalogues, which you can send for yourself, and let
me know the make of car, I will attend to the rest'"
"That's great!" cried Paul.
"A terrible waste!" muttered Mr. Larabee. "Sinful!"
"Good old dad!" exclaimed Dick, as he put the letter in his pocket. "I
wonder what sort of a car I ought to take?"
"One that you can cross the country in," advised Paul.
"That's what I'll do--I'll get a big touring car, and take some of you
fellows with me. We'll have a great and glorious trip this summer!"
"More waste! You would much better get work somewhere, Dick, and pay
part of your expenses here," declared Mr. Larabee.
"My mother arranged all that before she died," said the young cadet.
"She wanted me to attend a military school, and left the funds for it.
My tuition is all paid for."
"Well, my sister never did know what she was doing," declared Mr.
Larabee, bitterly.
"Hold on!" exclaimed Dick, hotly. "Remember that she was _my_ mother,"
and he spoke the word softly, for she had not been dead many years.
"Ahem! Wa'al, I didn't mean anything," stammered Mr. Larabee. "Say, I've
got to hustle to get my train," he added, quickly, looking at an ancient
silver watch, which he pulled out of his pocket by means of a leather
thong. "Come and see us at Dankville, Nephew Richard. Your aunt will be
glad to have you, but you can't expect such meals as this," he went on
hastily. "You know she has the dyspepsia, and she can't eat much, so I
don't buy much. But come and see us."
Dick mumbled something not quite distinguishable, and the meal came to
an end.
"I guess I'll just take some of this meat that's left over, and make
myself a couple of sandwiches," said Mr. Larabee, suiting the action to
the word. "No use in letting it go to waste," he added. "And I might get
hungry before we get to Dankville. This will save me buying anything on
the train," and wrapping up the sandwiches in a piece of newspaper he
thrust them into his pocket.
"Thank goodness I didn't take him to one of the tables with the
fellows!" whispered Dick, as he winked at Paul. "He sure is the limit!"
"This way to the trolley that goes to the depot," said Dick, as he
escorted his uncle across the parade ground, Paul having excused
himself.
"I'm not going to take the trolley, Nephew Richard. I have plenty of
time to walk the distance, and there is no use wasting five cents. It is
grass most of the way, and I won't wear out my shoes none to speak of.
I'm going to walk."
"All right," assented Dick, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Good-bye.
I'd go with you, but we have guard mount soon, and I'm officer of the
day."
"Foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted Mr. Larabee, feeling in his
pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "You had better think twice
about wasting money on that touring car, too, Nephew Richard. Don't take
it--take the money and invest it."
"I would rather have the car, Uncle Ezra. Remember me to Aunt Samanthy."
"Um!" mumbled Mr. Larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the
railroad. A trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the
station, but he did not signal for it to stop.
"He's happy," mused Dick. "He didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got
his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. Oh, he's happy
all right. But, excuse me!"
Just then Grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable,
came rushing out to meet his master. Then the dog caught sight of the
vanishing figure of Uncle Ezra, and with a growl sprang in that
direction.
"Here! Come back, Grit!" yelled Dick. "Come back!"
The bulldog paused. Mr. Larabee looked back. The temptation was too much
for the animal. He made another rush.
"Call him back! Call him back!" yelled Mr. Larabee, breaking into a run.
"If he bites me, Nephew Richard, I'll sue your father for damages! Call
him back!"
"Grit!" called the cadet, and the dog knew the consequences of
disobeying that voice. Reluctantly he turned, but he sent menacing
growls and barks in the direction of his traditional enemy. Mr. Larabee
was still running as Dick turned back toward the parade ground, with
Grit following reluctantly.
"Grit, have you no manners?" asked Dick, but he could not help smiling.
The dog wagged his tail, as though answering that he had not, and was
glad of it.
Dick turned to look after his uncle, who, casting occasional fearful
glances back, was hurrying toward the station. And, as Dick looked, he
saw a man turn from a cross road, and meet his uncle.
The two stopped at the same time, and the stranger seemed to be
questioning Mr. Larabee. If such was the case he got little
satisfaction, for Dick's uncle could be seen to shake his head
vigorously in disapproval, and then, with a gesture, to dismiss the
other. The stranger hesitated a moment, and soon turned away.
"He looks just like the man Paul and I met on the railroad," mused Dick.
"The one Paul said acted as if he was going to commit suicide. I wonder
what he wanted of Uncle Ezra?"
But Dick was not to know that for some time.