"Yes, I do. I don't want to waste my return ticket. I'll go down at once."
Paul gave a sigh of relief, and winked at Dick. The three moved toward the dining hall, Dick making inquiries about his aunt, and some other distant relatives in Dankville, a place he hated above all others,--for his uncle's house there was almost the personification of gloom.
"Wa'al, your aunt's as well as she can expect to be," remarked Mr. Larabee. "She suffers consid'able from stomach misery, and the doctor don't seem to do her no good. He charges enough too, and he's allers changin' the medicine. I should think he could take one kind and stick to it."
"He has to try different kinds to see what is the best," suggested Dick.
"I know, but you ought to see the bottles, only half-took, that I have to throw away. I tried to git a rebate on 'em, but the druggist said he couldn't use 'em. So I'm that much out," and Mr. Larabee drew a deep sigh.
"Any news from home, Dick?" asked Paul, as the three sat alone in the mess hall, at a special table for visitors. "How is your father?"
"By Jove! I forgot to read the letter!" exclaimed Dick, pulling it from his pocket. "Excuse me while I look at it," and he ripped open the envelope.
"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."
"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."