Something swelled in the girls’ hearts and for a moment they could not speak. Then,
“I guess we all love you for that, Frank,” said Betty simply. With a little nod of her head toward the slip of paper he still held, she added: “What about that— now?”
Frank looked down at the slip of paper for a moment uncomprehendingly, for his thoughts had been far away.
“Oh, the note,” he said. “Why, that was only to be given to his father in case anything happened, you know. But now that the boys are coming back to him themselves, I suppose the thing is worthless.” He made a motion as though to tear the note up, but Grace stopped him with a quick exclamation.
“Don’t!” she cried, adding as they all looked at her in surprise: “Don’t you suppose there might be something in it that would give us a clue to the professor’s whereabouts now, perhaps? Don’t you think it would be wise to look, at least?”
But Frank slowly shook his head.
“Arnold Dempsey’s message, written to his dad when he thought he might never see him again, doesn’t belong to us,” he said decidedly. “The note was given in trust to me, and since I can’t deliver it— or at least, since there is now no reason for delivering it— the only thing I can honorably do is this.” And very slowly and very decidedly he tore the note into little bits and threw the pieces among the wild roses at the side of the porch.
It was the first real glimpse the girls had had of the man who had come back in the old Frank’s place, and with all their hearts they admired him.
Even Grace, who had seemed inclined to pout a little, could not but admit that the action was splendid in him.