“In the tin-peddler’s business it’s nearly all profit except the wear and tear on horse and wagon,” smiled the physician.  “One who isn’t fitted for that line of work would starve to death at it, but Reuben Hinman has always been a shrewd, keen dealer in his own line of work.  Strange as it may seem, Reuben is believed to make more than three hundred dollars a month.  He gives it all to that son and two daughters.  He wanted to bring his children up to be ladies and gentlemen—–­and they are!  They are all three of them too shiftless to do any work.  They take the old man’s money, but they won’t live with him.  They are too busy in ‘society’ to bother with the old man.  On what he is able to turn over to his children every month they keep a rather pretentious home in Fenton, though they live a full mile away from their father.  They never go near him, except for more money.  If they meet him on his wagon, or when he is walking in his old clothes, they refuse to recognize him.  Yet, though Reuben Hinman isn’t a fool in anything else, he is very proud of the fact that his son is a ‘gentleman,’ and that his daughters are ‘ladies.’  Now, in a nutshell, you know the tragedy of the old man’s life.  Young Tim Hinman would, if he could, take the old man’s money away from him at once and let him go to the hospital as a charity patient.”

“Humph!” muttered Dick, and then was silent.

Timothy Hinman, when Dr. Hewitt and the boys stepped outside the tent, was inspecting the dingy old red wagon with a look of contempt on his face.

“What am I going to do with this crazy old rattle-trap?” inquired young Hinman plaintively.  “Would one of you boys accept a dollar to drive this over to Fenton, and put the horse up in my father’s barn?  The trip can be made in two days of good driving.”

Dick Prescott shook his head in order that he might avoid speaking.

“I came by train, within five miles of here, then hired a horse and rode over here,” the younger Hinman went on.  “So I’ve got to take the horse back to where I got it, and then return by train.  So I’ll pay a dollar and a half to the boy who will drive this rig back to Fenton.”

This time there was no response to the magnificent offer.

“See here,” muttered young Hinman half savagely, “it’s more than the job is worth, but I’ll pay two dollars to have this rig driven home.  Will you take the job?”

He looked directly at Dick Prescott, who replied bluntly: 

“Thank you; I won’t.”

“But what on earth am I going to do with the horse and wagon, then?” demanded Timothy Hinman, as though he found Prescott’s refusal preposterous.

“I would suggest,” offered Dick coolly, “that you drive your father’s rig home yourself.”

“I drive it?” gasped the son.

“Certainly.”

“But it’s no job for a gentleman!” protested the younger Mr. Hinman, looking very much aghast.