"First-rate. I've made a number of inquiries about him in both places,
and nobody has a word to say against him; very quiet, minds his own
business, a man of few words; just about my sort of a man, I should
judge," Mr. Underwood concluded as he rose from his chair.
"Well, Mr. Underwood," said Darrell, "whatever arrangements you decide
to make, I wish you success."
"No more than I do you, my boy, in anything your pig-headedness leads
you into," Mr. Underwood replied, brusquely, but with a humorous twinkle
in his eyes. "Confound you!" he added; "I'd help you if you'd give me a
chance, but maybe it's best to let you 'gang your ain gait.'" And he
walked out of the room before Darrell could reply.
A moment later he looked in at the door. "By the way, if you're not at
The Pines by five o'clock sharp next Saturday afternoon, Marcia says
she's going to send an officer up here after you with a writ of habeas
corpus, or something of the sort."
"All right; I'll be there," Darrell laughed.
"You'll find the old place a bit brighter than you've seen it yet, for
we had a letter from Puss this morning that she'll be home to-morrow."
With the last words the door closed and Darrell was left alone with his
thoughts, to which, however, he could then give little time. But when
the day's work was done he went for a stroll, and, seating himself upon
a large rock, carefully reviewed the situation.
Hitherto he had given little thought to the impending trouble at the
camp, supposing it would affect himself but slightly; but he now
realized that a suspension of operations there would mean an entire
change in his mode of living. The prospective change weighed on his
sensitive spirits like an incubus. Even The Pines, he dismally
reflected, would no longer seem the same quiet, homelike retreat, since
it was to be invaded and dominated by a youthful presence between whom
and himself there would probably be little congeniality.
But finally telling himself that these reflections were childish, he
rose as the last sunset rays were sinking behind the western ranges and
the rosy flush on the summits was fading, and, walking swiftly to his
room, resolutely buried himself in his studies.