He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early November twilight.  Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving dinner at home and then leave for camp on the afternoon train.

“Well, good-by,” he said.

Jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp.

“Oh, don’t say good-by; it’s just ‘See you later,’” he replied.

Leander smiled.  “Of course.  Well, then, see you later, Jed.  We’ll write once in a while; eh?”

Jed promised.  The young fellow strode off into the dusk.  Somehow, with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, he seemed to typify Young America setting cheerfully forth to face—­ anything—­that Honor and Decency may still be more than empty words in this world of ours.

CHAPTER XIV

The Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success.  Even Captain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed to do so with reluctance.

“Yes,” he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his guests, “it’s a pretty good dinner, considerin’ everything.  Of course ’tain’t what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy’s eatin’- house on Atlantic Avenue, but it’s pretty good—­as I say, when everything’s considered.”

His daughter was highly indignant.  “Do you mean to say that this dinner isn’t as good as those you used to get at that Boston restaurant, Pa?” she demanded.  “Don’t you dare say such a thing.”

Her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn.

“Well,” he observed, “as a boy I was brought up to always speak the truth and I’ve tried to live up to my early trainin’.  Speakin’ as a truthful man, then, I’m obliged to say that this dinner ain’t like those I used to get at Sam Coy’s.”

Ruth put in a word.  “Well, then, Captain Hunniwell,” she said, “I think the restaurant you refer to must be one of the best in the world.”

Before the captain could reply, Maud did it for him.

“Mrs. Armstrong,” she cautioned, “you mustn’t take my father too seriously.  He dearly loves to catch people with what he hopes is a joke.  For a minute he caught even me this time, but I see through him now.  He didn’t say the dinner at his precious restaurant was better than this one, he said it wasn’t like it, that’s all.  Which is probably true,” she added, with withering scorn.  “But what I should like to know is what he means by his ’everything considered.’”

Her father’s gravity was unshaken.  “Well,” he said, “all I meant was that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin’ who was responsible for gettin’ it up.”

“I see, I see.  Mrs. Ellis, our housekeeper, and I are responsible, Mrs. Armstrong, so you understand now who he is shooting at.  Very well, Pa,” she added, calmly, “the rest of us will have our dessert now.  You can get yours at Sam Coy’s.”

The dessert was mince pie and a Boston frozen pudding, the latter an especial favorite of Captain Sam’s.  He capitulated at once.