“No, sir, they didn’t!” Peaches recrossed his ankles and chuckled. “No, the old gentleman up and resigned on ’em! Said he wouldn’t work for folks who believed his son to be a thief. You’ve got to hand it to Mr. Benjy for that, Barry. He was getting pretty good wages at the factory, had been with them something like fifteen years, I believe, and he chucked the whole thing and went to work in the freight-station. I heard Watkins and Boyle were after him again last month, but he wouldn’t weaken. I like Mr. Benjy for that!” added Peaches, warmly. “So do I,” said Barry. “Only, eighteen dollars a week seems mighty little.” “It is. And most of it goes to pay for that silly old bond. That’s the reason I decided to stick here another year. They’re having hard sledding. Of course if I’d given up this room some one else might have taken it, but I couldn’t be sure. That room you’re in was empty, too. About all they have now is what they get from these three rooms, and that’s little enough.” “What became of the son?” asked Barry. “Davy? Well, he writes about every week. I suppose that after a while Watkins and Boyle will forget their grouch, but I guess it wouldn’t be wise for Davy to come home just yet.” “You mean he’d be arrested?” “Surest thing you know! The old warrant is still good. Well, that’s pretty much that, Barry.” And Peaches stretched and yawned. “I’m glad you told me,” said Barry. “It explains things. Like the other night.” He told how Mrs. Lyle had become intent on the passing figure, and Peaches nodded. “Yes, she probably saw a resemblance to Davy. She misses him, I guess. So does Mr. Benjy. Mr. Benjy seems a lot older this fall. Pretty cheerful old bird, at that, but I’ve seen him looking awfully kind of miserable when he didn’t know any one was watching.” “Betty seems a good sort,” said Barry. “Betty’s a corker,” asserted Peaches, enthusiastically. “She’s got the brains of the family; and the pep, too. She really runs this shebang. Mrs. Lyle’s a dear, but she couldn’t say ‘boo’ to a mouse.” “Why should she?” inquired Barry. “‘Boo’ seems to me a perfectly idiotic remark to make to――” “That’ll do for you, son. Got any idea of studying to-night?” “Some.” “Bring your books over, then, and let’s get busy.” CHAPTER IX BARRY SHOWS HIS STUFF It wasn’t until Friday that Barry had further speech with Major Loring. For three afternoons he had been drilled in the rudiments and had not got into signal work save for a brief ten minutes on Thursday. He was getting a little impatient. If they were ever going to discover his worthlessness they would have to give him a chance to show it. Clyde was viewing him with increasing suspicion. Once in a scrimmage, Barry told himself, he was certain to make a mess of things and get his walking papers, but they wouldn’t let him into a scrimmage! Each day he sat on the bench and just looked on.