Harry said, “Oh, quite a few things happened before you were born.”
Then he took the letter and read it through again, and then folded it in the old creases. Then he just said, “Humph!” After that he opened it very carefully and laid it on the table and read it again. Then he said, sort of as if he were thinking, “Bully old top, that fellow was. I’d like to have known him. He seems to have been made out of pretty good stuff.”
Jiminies, I’ll never forget how Harry Donnelle looked that night while he sat there studying that letter. He just kept rubbing his tongue along his lips, and studying the paper, just as if he were trying to do an example.
After a while he said, “Funny; wonder what became of that other chap—or scoundrel as old Hickory-nut calls him.”
“That’s a good name for him—Hickory-nut,” I said.
“I wonder who he was,” Grace said; “and he was bringing seeds home for his wife to plant! Isn’t that lovely where he admits he’s a rough diamond! Oh, I think he was _splendid_.”
“And he was bringing those seeds home to her,” Grace said, “so they would grow up and they could have the same kind of a tree at home—oh, I think he was just _splendid_!”
“He wasn’t a cheese at all,” Grace said, kind of all excited like. “He thought more of his home than he did even of his bags of gold. Even those seeds that he lost—oh, I think he was _fine_!”
Harry just looked at her, kind of smiling, and he said, “Thanks for your hint; it takes a girl to see that side of it. Those seeds may come in handy. What I was thinking about was, if that other chap——”
“He wasn’t a _chap_, he was a _villain_!” she said.
“Well, whatever he was,” Harry kept on, “if he was shot and had to limp, how far would he get before he had to drop the bags of gold. I was wondering if maybe he buried them. Buried treasure is the regular thing, you know. Hey, Scout Harris? Then I was wondering if he buried it, how somebody could find it. Just for a stunt, you know. More fun than sitting on the porch, anyway—or playing tennis. How about that, Scout Harris?
“I kinder like what old Hickory says about paying him in good measure with a bullet in his leg. I have a kind of hunch he didn’t get far—in those woods. Maybe he buried his pal and the bags at the same time—if he was able. Be pretty good fun looking into the affair, hey? Wish I knew who he was and where he is; then we might have something to go by. I’d never have thought twice about those seeds if it hadn’t been for you, Grace. How about it, you kids? Scouts are supposed to know all about trees and things. What do you know about the Dahadinee poplar? We may be able to bang some fun out of this letter yet. Hey, Sir Walter?”