Roy had opened the history again, and was copying his great uncle’s name and address in a little red vest-pocket memorandum book, he always carried.
“I certainly will--if I find the time,” he repeated. “It’s a good thing to know your relatives. But it’s likely I’ll be too busy to go visiting. I’ll have the address anyway--‘Willard Banks, Parowan, Iron County, Utah.’”
Then Roy and his mother responded to Mr. Osborne’s impatient calls from below to come to breakfast.
“I supposed you’d gone,” exclaimed Roy, glancing at the clock and noticing that it was after his father’s usual time of leaving for the works.
“I’m waiting for you,” his father replied. “I want you to go with me and see Mr. Atkinson. You can close your own bargain with him. I imagine he’ll want you to start in a few days, and I thought there might be clothes to be bought,” he added, turning to his wife.
“I suppose he ought to have a new suit,” began Mrs. Osborne.
“A new suit?” he roared. “Say, father, you don’t imagine I’ll need Sunday clothes to go roughing it in?”
“What you have are not decent to go away from home in,” interrupted his mother.
Roy held up his hands in amused protest. Then he turned seriously to his father.
Mr. Osborne thought a moment. Then he said:
“Considering everything, the risk and the distance from home, I’m going to suggest two hundred dollars a month.”
“Why I never made over a dollar a day in my life--when I worked,” the boy exclaimed.
“It isn’t because it’s you--it’s the job,” added his father. “It won’t last long, you know. But what has that to do with your outfit?”
“Well, if I work for six weeks, that’s three hundred dollars,” answered Roy, “and I suppose my expenses out there won’t be much.”
“The company will likely pay all your living expenses. But what are you getting at?” persisted his father.
“I’m getting at this,” replied Roy. “I’ll need a certain kind of outfit. If I can get enough wages advanced to me to make it possible I’ll buy the clothes and things I need in Chicago--not here. From my Baden-Powell to my automatic.”
“What are those?” interrupted his mother.
“Well,” explained Roy, smiling, “Baden-Powell is the name of a hat. I’ll get one with a leather band and a leather string to slip under the hair. Automatics are what they use to-day. Colts have gone out of style. You must have a ten-shot automatic revolver.”