TED SEIZES THE DAY

The next morning Ted strolled into his uncle’s office to ask if the latter had any objections to his accepting an invitation to a house-party from Hal Underwood, a college classmate, at the latter’s home near Springfield.

The doctor considered a moment before answering.  He knew all about the Underwoods and knew that his erratic nephew could not be in a safer, pleasanter place.  Also his quick wit saw a chance to put the screws on the lad in connection with the tutoring business.

“I suppose your June allowance is able to float your traveling expenses,” he remarked less guilelessly than the remark sounded.

The June allowance was, it seemed, the missing link.

“I thought maybe you would be willing to allow me a little extra this month on account of commencement stunts.  It is darned expensive sending nosegays to sweet girl graduates.  I couldn’t help going broke.  Honest I couldn’t, Uncle Phil.”  Then as his uncle did not leap at the suggestion offered, the speaker changed his tack.  “Anyway, you would be willing to let me have my July money ahead of time, wouldn’t you?” he ingratiated.  “It is only ten days to the first.”

But Doctor Holiday still chose to be inconveniently irrelevant.

“Have you any idea how much my bill was for repairing the car?” he asked.

Ted shook his head shamefacedly, and bent to examine a picture in a magazine which lay on the desk.  He wasn’t anxious to have the car incident resurrected.  He had thought it decently buried by this time, having heard no more about it.

“It was a little over a hundred dollars,” continued the doctor.

The boy looked up, genuinely distressed.

“Gee, Uncle Phil!  It’s highway robbery.”

“Scarcely.  All things considered, it was a very fair bill.  A hundred dollars is a good deal to pay for the pleasure of nearly getting yourself and somebody else killed, Ted.”

Ted pulled his forelock and had nothing to say.

“Were you in earnest about paying up for that particular bit of folly, son?”

“Why, yes.  At least I didn’t think it would be any such sum as that,” Ted hedged.  “I’ll be swamped if I try to pay it out of my allowance.  I can’t come out even, as it is.  Couldn’t you take it out of my own money—­what’s coming to me when I’m of age?”

“I could, if getting myself paid were the chief consideration.  As it happens, it isn’t.  I’m sorry if I seem to be hard on you, but I am going to hold you to your promise, even if it pinches a bit.  I think you know why.  How about it, son?”

“I suppose it has to go that way if you say so,” said Ted a little sulkily.  “Can I pay it in small amounts?”

“How small?  Dollar a year?  I’d hate to wait until I was a hundred and forty or so to get my money back.”

The boy grinned reluctantly, answering the friendly twinkle in his uncle’s eyes.  He was relieved that a joke had penetrated what had begun to appear to be an unpleasantly jestless interview.  He hated to be called to account.  Like many another older sinner he liked dancing, but found paying the piper an irksome business.