Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway. Barbour Ralph Henry

much money, an’ I guess he wouldn’t like me to be too free with the victuals. But if you’re willin’ to pay – ”

      “Sure, we’ll pay,” said Bob.

      So Jerry set a frying pan on top of the stove, touched a match to the pile of straw and corncobs inside, and produced a strip of bacon from the larder. Even Bob, who prided himself on his culinary abilities, had to pay tribute to Jerry’s deftness. In ten minutes the first panful of crisp bacon was ready and a second lot was sizzling on the stove.

      “Talk about your reed birds!” said Dan eloquently.

      “Never tasted anything better in my life,” said Nelson. “Is there any more milk there?”

      Ten minutes later the banquet was a thing of the past, and the four sat back and sighed luxuriously.

      “That was sure fine,” said Dan. “My, but I was hungry!”

      “Me too,” answered Nelson. “But look here, how about you?” He looked inquiringly at Jerry. “We haven’t left you a thing.”

      “Oh, I had my dinner at twelve,” answered their host, as he cleared the table. “You see we have our breakfast about six, dad an’ me.”

      “You say your father’s away to-day?” asked Bob.

      “Yes, gone over to Roslyn to buy some feed for the horse.”

      “And you live here all the year, do you?”

      “We only come here last April. We used to have a farm down near Hicksville, but we lost it.”

      “That’s too bad. Is there just you and your father?”

      Jerry nodded soberly.

      “Mother died year ago last May. Me an’ dad’s been kind of helpless since then. Things don’t seem to go just right nowadays.”

      “Do you go to school?” asked Nelson.

      “No. I did one year over to Newton. It was a mighty nice school too. There was three teachers. I learnt a whole lot that winter. I been intendin’ to go again, but since mother died – ”

      Jerry’s voice dwindled away into silence while he stared out into the sunlit stable yard.

      “I see,” said Bob sympathetically.

      “Mother she taught me a lot at home when I was just a kid,” resumed Jerry. “Spellin’, ’rithmetic, and all about Scotland. She was born in Scotland, you see. I guess I know more’n most fellers about Scotland,” he added proudly.

      “I bet you know a heap more about it than I do,” said Bob.

      “I guess you’re through school, ain’t you?” asked Jerry.

      “I get through this year,” answered Bob. “Then I’m going to college.”

      Jerry’s eyes brightened.

      “Is that so?” he asked eagerly. “I guess you’re pretty smart. What college are you going to?”

      “Erskine. Ever hear of it?”

      “No.” Jerry shook his head apologetically. “You see I don’t know much about colleges. I – I’d like to see one. I guess Yale must be pretty fine. I expect it’s bigger’n that boardin’ school over to Garden City?”

      “St. Paul’s? Some bigger, yes.”

      “Is the school you been going to like St. Paul’s?”

      “Not much, but Nelson and Tommy here go to a school a good deal the same. Hillton. Ever hear of Hillton?”

      Again Jerry shook his head.

      “What’s it like, your school?” he asked.

      For the next quarter of an hour Nelson told about Hillton – Tom interpolating explanatory footnotes, as it were – and Jerry listened with shining eyes and open mouth. It was all very wonderful to him, and he asked question after question. Dan tried to tell him that while Hillton was good enough in a way, the only school worth boasting about was St. Eustace. But Tom tipped him out of his chair, and as it is difficult to uphold the honor of your school with any eloquence from the hard floor of a carriage house, Dan decided to shut up.

      “I guess it costs a good deal to go to a school like that,” said Jerry regretfully.

      “Not so awful much,” answered Nelson. “A fellow can get through the year on three hundred.”

      Jerry nodded gravely.

      “I guess that’s kind of reasonable, ain’t it?”

      “Yes. Then if a fellow is lucky enough to get a scholarship, it brings it down to about two hundred, maybe.”

      “What’s a scholarship like?” asked Jerry interestedly.

      Nelson explained.

      “I guess it’s pretty hard to get into one of them schools, ain’t it?” pursued Jerry.

      “Oh, not so very hard.”

      “Think I could do it?”

      “Well – I don’t know. I think maybe you could if you had some coaching.”

      “What’s that like?” asked Jerry.

      Nelson glanced appealingly at Bob, and the latter took up the task. Half an hour later the four decided that it was time for them to be going. Bob broached the matter of payment.

      “How much do we owe, Jerry?”

      “I guess about a quarter,” answered Jerry.

      “A quarter!” cried Tom. “Get out! That was worth a dollar! It saved my life.”

      “It’s worth fifty cents, anyhow,” said Nelson, “and here’s mine.”

      “Well,” said Jerry accepting the coin reluctantly, “but I don’t feel just right about it. You see, the milk don’t cost nothin’, and the butter don’t cost nothin’, and the bread was only five cents, and – ”

      “That bread was worth more than five cents to us,” laughed Dan. “Here, take the money, and don’t be silly.” Dan held out his half dollar, and Bob and Tom followed suit. Jerry looked bewildered.

      “What’s that?” he asked.

      “We’re going to pay fifty cents,” said Dan.

      “Yes, but he paid it,” replied Jerry, pointing his thumb at Nelson.

      “He paid for himself, that’s all.”

      “Gosh! I didn’t mean you was to pay fifty cents apiece!” cried Jerry. “Fifty cents is more’n enough for the whole of you!”

      They laughed derisively, and tried to get him to accept the rest of the money, but nothing they found to say had any effect.

      “I been paid enough,” said Jerry doggedly. “I’m much obliged, but I can’t take no more. You didn’t eat more’n a quarter’s worth of victuals.”

      In the end they had to let him have his own way. As they were fixing their packs on to their shoulders Jerry approached Nelson. He held out a soiled envelope and a stump of pencil.

      “Say, would you just write down the name of that school you was tellin’ about?” he asked awkwardly.

      “Surely,” answered Nelson.

      “‘Hillton Academy, Hillton, New York,’” read Jerry unctuously. “Thanks. I’m goin’ there some day.”

      “That’s fine,” answered Nelson heartily. “You’ll like it, I’m sure. Maybe you can get up this year while I’m there. I wish you would. I’d be glad to show you around.”

      “This year? No, I couldn’t do that. You see, I’ll have to earn some money first; three hundred dollars, you said, didn’t you?”

      “Oh, you mean you’re going to enter?” asked Nelson.

      “Yes, I’m goin’ to