"
"I will!" whispered Bob heartily. "And you tell Mr. Bender, won't
you? He'll understand. I'll write him the first chance I get, and Doc
Guerin, too. Good-by, Betty--I--I--"
To his surprise and confusion, Bob suddenly choked.
"Here's something to take with you," said Betty softly, dropping a
little packet that landed at his feet. "Good-by, Bob. I just know
things will turn out all right for you."
The dark head was withdrawn, and Bob, picking up the little package,
turned and began his long walk to the Glenside station. A hoot-owl
screeched at mournful intervals, and the night sounds would have
tried a city lad's nerves in that long dark stretch that led him
finally to the station. But Bob could identify every sound, and
nature had always proved kind to him, far kinder than many of the
people he had known. He trudged along sturdily, and, twenty minutes
before the train was due, found himself the solitary passenger on the
Glenside platform.
He stood under the uncertain rays of the lamp to examine the parting
gift Betty had given him. Tucked under half a dozen chocolate wafers
was a five dollar bill folded into the tiniest possible wad. The
choky feeling assailed Bob again.
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