LITMIR.BIZ

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Don’t do that. Get your diploma. You’ll regret it in after life if you don’t.”

      “But – there are five of us, sir. The youngsters are hearty eaters, you know; and the girls must have clothes and things. Forty dollars! Why, it must have all been spent long ago – and more.”

      Mr. Ferguson said nothing to this. He was watching Phil’s face again.

      “It’s all so – so – sudden, sir; and so unexpected. I – I – ” he choked down a sob and continued bravely: “I’m not able to think clearly yet.”

      “Take your time,” advised the lawyer. “There’s no rush. And don’t get discouraged, Phil. Remember, you’re the head of the family. Remember, there’s no earthly battle that can’t be won by a brave and steadfast heart. Think it all over at your leisure, and consider what your father might have done, had some whim of fortune placed him in your position. Confide in Phœbe, if you like, but don’t worry the little ones. Keep a stiff upper lip with your friends and playmates, and never let them suspect you’re in trouble. The world looks with contempt on a fellow who shows he’s downed. If he doesn’t show it, he isn’t downed. Just bear that in mind, Phil. And now run along, for I’ve a case to try in half an hour, at the courthouse. If you need any help or advice, lad,” he added, with gentle kindliness, “come to me. I was your father’s friend, and I’m your legal guardian.”

      Phil went away staggering like a man in a dream. His brain seemed in a whirl, and somehow he couldn’t control it and make it think logically. As he reached the sidewalk Al Hayden and Eric Spaythe ran up to him.

      “We’ve been waiting for you, Phil,” said one. “Saw you go up to the judge’s office.”

      “Let’s hurry over to the practice field,” suggested the other, eagerly. “The rest of our nine is there by this time, and we’ve got to get in trim for the match this afternoon.”

      Phil stared, first at one face and then the other, trying to understand what they were talking about.

      “If we’re beaten by Exeter to-day,” continued Al, “we’ll lose the series; but we won’t let ’em beat us, Phil. Their pitcher can’t hold a candle to you, and we’ve got Eric for shortstop.”

      “How’s your arm, Phil?” demanded Eric.

      They had started down the street as they talked, and Phil walked with them. Gradually, the mist began to fade from his mind and he came back to the practical things of life. “If a fellow doesn’t show it, he isn’t downed,” the shrewd old lawyer had said, and Phil knew it was true.

      “My arm?” he replied, with a return of his usual quiet, confident manner; “it’s fit as anything, boys. We’ll beat Exeter to-day as sure as my name’s Phil Daring.”

      CHAPTER III

      BECKY GETS ACQUAINTED

      Meantime Becky, Donald and Sue had maintained their interest in the new neighbors, and partly concealed by the vines that covered the porch were able to watch every movement across the way.

      “Isn’t it a shame,” said Don, “to have them walk into our old home that father built, and use the pretty furniture that mother bought in the city, and have all the good things that we used to have?”

      “Wonder who’s got my room,” mused Sue. “If it’s that yellow haired girl yonder, I could scratch her eyes out.”

      “She’s about my age,” asserted Becky, gazing hard at the fairylike form of the new arrival. “I hope she’s ’spectable an’ decent, an’ won’t try to be bossy.”

      “They’re from New York,” added Sue. “I jus’ hate New York folks.”

      “How do you know they’re from New York?” demanded Don.

      “Somebody said so. Oh, it was Lil Harrington; her father once knew ’em.”

      The elders had entered the house by this time, and the carriage and baggage wagon had driven away. The girl and boy, about fourteen and twelve years of age, were walking with mincing steps about the grounds, examining the shrubbery and flowers and, as Don said, evidently “taking stock” of their new possessions.

      “That fellow,” Don added, “is a snob. I can see that from here. He wears a velvet suit, and it’s braided. Think of that, girls!”

      “Let’s go over and talk to ’em,” suggested Becky. “We can show ’em the stables, an’ where we kept the rabbits an’ guinea pigs, an’ how to climb the pear-tree.”

      “Not me!” exclaimed Don, scornfully.

      “We’ve got to know ’em sometime,” retorted his sister, “bein’ as we’re next door neighbors. And it’s polite for us to make the first call.”

      “They’re usurpers,” declared Don. “What right had they to buy our old house? They’ll get no politeness out o’ me, Beck, if they live here a thousand years.”

      The boy and girl opposite came down the lawn and stood at the entrance of the driveway, looking curiously down the wide village street, shaded with its avenue of spreading trees.

      “Come on, Sue,” said Becky. “Don’t be cross to-day, anyhow. Let’s go and talk to our neighbors.”

      But Sue drew back, shaking her curls, positively.

      “I don’t like ’em, Becky. They – they’re not our style, I’m ’fraid. You can go – if you dare.”

      One thing Becky couldn’t do, was to “take a dare.” She was not really anxious to make the pilgrimage alone, but having suggested it, she turned a comical look upon the others and said:

      “All right. Here goes.”

      Don gave a snort of disdain and Sue laughed. It would be fun to watch their reckless sister and see what she did.

      Becky Daring was not the beauty of the family, by any means. Her hair was a glaring, painful red; her face long, thin and freckled; her nose inclined to turn upward. But Becky’s hazel eyes were splendid and sparkled so continuously with humor and mischief that they won for her more smiles and friendly words than she really deserved. Auntie had despaired long ago of trying to make Becky look neat and tidy, and at fourteen she was growing so fast that she shot out of her gowns as if by magic, and you could always see more of her slim legs and sunburned wrists than was originally intended. She was not dainty, like little Sue, nor calm and composed like beautiful Phœbe; but Becky enjoyed life, nevertheless, and had a host of friends.

      One of her shoes became untied as she crossed the road to where the Randolph children stood. She placed her foot on the stone coping at the sidewalk and, as she fastened the knot, said with her slow Southern drawl:

      “Good mawnin’. I s’pose you’re our new neighbors.”

      The boy and girl, standing side by side, looked at her solemnly.

      “Come to stay, I guess, haven’t you?” continued Becky, inspecting them carefully at close range.

      “Come away, Doris,” said the boy, taking his sister’s hand. “It is some common village child. I am sure mamma won’t care to have us know her.”

      Becky threw back her head with a merry laugh.

      “Don was right, you know,” she said, nodding. “He sized you up in a jiffy, an’ from ’way over there, too,” indicating the porch from whence she had come.

      “Who is Don, pray?” asked Doris, in quiet, ladylike tones; “and in what way was he right?”

      “Don’s my brother,” was the reply; “an’ he jus’ gave one squint at your brother an’ said he was a snob.”

      “Me – a snob!” cried the boy, indignantly.

      “That’s what he said. Funny how he spotted you so quick, isn’t it?”

      “Come, Doris. It is an insult,” he said, his face growing red as he tugged at Doris’

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