Part 2 (1/2)

January 12th.

Colonel Butler read the letter over slowly aloud, folded the subscription paper on which it had been written, and handed it to Aleck.

”There, young man,” he said, ”are your credentials, and my offer.”

The shrieking whistle had already announced the approach of the train, and the easy puffing of the locomotive indicated that it was now standing at the station. The colonel rose from his chair and started across the room, followed by Aleck.

”You're very kind to do that,” said the boy. And he added: ”Have you a grip that I can carry to the train for you?”

”No, thank you! A certain act--rash perhaps, but justifiable,--in the civil war, cost me an arm. Since then, when traveling, I have found it convenient to check my baggage.”

He pushed his way through the crowd on the platform, still followed by Aleck, and mounted the rear steps of the last coach on the train. The engine bell was ringing. The conductor cried, ”All aboard!” and signalled to the engineer, and the train moved slowly out.

On the rear platform, scanning the crowd at the station, stood Colonel Butler, tall, soldierly, impressive. He saw Aleck and waved his hand to him. And at that moment, capless, breathless, hopeless, around the corner of the station into sight, dashed Pen Butler.

CHAPTER II

Pen was not only exhausted by his race, he was disappointed and distressed as well.

Whether or not his grandfather had seen him as the train moved out he did not know. He simply knew that for him not to have been there on time was little less than tragical. He dropped down limply on a convenient trunk to regain his breath.

After a minute he was aware that some one was standing near by, looking at him. He glanced up and saw that it was Aleck Sands. He was nettled. He knew of no reason why Aleck should stand there staring at him.

”Well,” he asked impatiently, ”is there anything about me that's particularly astonis.h.i.+ng?”

”Not particularly,” replied Aleck. ”You seem to be winded, that's all.”

”You'd be winded too, if you'd run all the way from Drake's Hill.”

”Too bad you missed your grandfather. He was looking for you.”

”How do you know?”

”He told me so. He wanted to know if I'd seen you.”

”What did you tell him?”

”I told him you'd gone to Drake's Hill, coasting.”

Pen rose slowly to his feet. What right, he asked himself, had this fellow to be telling tales about him? What right had he to be talking to Colonel Butler, anyway? However, he did not choose to lower his dignity further by inquiry. He turned as if to leave the station. But Aleck, who had been turning the matter over carefully in his mind, had decided that Pen ought to know about the proposed gift of the flag. He ought not to be permitted, unwittingly, to go on securing subscriptions to a fund which, by reason of Colonel Butler's proposed gift, had been made unnecessary. That would be cruel and humiliating.

So, as Pen turned away, he said to him:

”I've put in some work for the flag this afternoon.”

”I s'pose so,” responded Pen. ”But it does not follow that by getting the first start you'll come out best in the end.”

”Maybe not; but I'd like to show you what I've done.”