Part 51 (2/2)

”You're a real pal!” exclaimed Larry, with feeling eyes.

He packed his grip, and, with a hearty, silent handshake, he left the house.

I had felt very much astonished and mortified that Betty should have acted that way, and I went into the house to reason with her. To my surprise, she was in her room and the door was locked.

”I want to come in,” I said.

”Keep on wanting!” she replied, angrily.

”B-but--” the door was suddenly thrown open, and Betty stood there with her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

”Don't 'but' me. You can hardly make both ends meet now, and your business is only just making a bare existence,”--I looked surprised--”yes, a bare existence; and here you jeopardize your future by endorsing the note of a friend without knowing the first thing about it! The thing I advise you to do is to begin to save up five hundred dollars to pay that note.”

I laughed.

”Dawson,” she said, ”there _are_ times when I don't know whether you're a fool or not. This is one of the times I'm _sure_ you're one!” And, with that, she slammed the door in my face, and left me aghast.

Betty was still sulky the next day. She could not get over my having endorsed that note for Larry. I was disappointed in Betty. I didn't think she would have me throw down a pal. Besides, it had not cost me anything to endorse the note, when it was sure to be paid long before it matured. While trying to get Betty to be reasonable, the telephone bell rang and I said, ”Go answer it, Betty.”

”Better answer it yourself,” she snapped, ”perhaps it is some other friend who wants you to give him some money.”

I picked up the telephone and called, ”h.e.l.lo!”

”h.e.l.lo, yourself, you old scallywag!” came back a voice which was familiar, though for a minute I could not place it.

”Who is it?” I asked angrily.

”Who's been biting you?” came back the answer. ”This is Fred Barlow, old surly face. What's the matter, anyway? Had a row with the wife?”

Fred Barlow! Old Barlow's son! If ever there was an irrepressible young man it was Fred Barlow.

”I'm coming right over to see you,” he said, and click went the receiver.

I went back in the room and growled at Betty: ”Fred Barlow's coming over here. Try to be civil to him.”

Betty looked at me for a minute, then crossed the room, and put one arm around my shoulder.

”Dawson, dear,” she said, ”you must not get vexed with me. You know, dearest, I would do everything to make you happy. But you must also know, dear, you have such a great big heart that you sometimes let it run away with your head--now, don't you? But you must not get angry with me. We cannot afford to get cross with each other--can we?”

”I--” but what then happened is n.o.body's business but ours. Suffice to say that, when Fred Barlow did breeze into the house, Betty and I were both smiling, and smiling from our hearts.

”Well, you old turtle doves,” said Fred, ”what's the price of dollar razors to-day? I want to buy one so that I can razor rumpus.”

”Dawson,” said Betty severely, yet with a twinkle in her eye, ”please throw this person out of the house. A man who makes puns on Sunday is breaking the Sabbath.”

”Never mind the Sabbath,” said Fred. ”If you will ask me to break bread with you I will stay. What's doing?”

”Well,” I said, ”I suppose we shall have to ask him, sha'n't we, Betty?”

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