“No one around here, anyway. And you practically tell him that you don’t know a thing about looking after young boys.” “I don’t!” “But you don’t have to say so, do you? Now, you write that all over and--I tell you what, Sam! Write it just as if you were trying to get the place for someone else!” Finally both Nell and Mrs. Craig approved, and Sam made a clean copy of the letter, slipped it into an envelope, stamped and addressed it, and went out to the mail box with it so it would be gathered up at eleven-thirty and go off on the early morning train. Now that he had made up his mind to get the position if he could he was impatient to learn his fate. But three days passed without any response and he had begun to think that nothing was to come of his application, when one afternoon a messenger boy brought a telegram. It was extremely brief. “Mail references immediately. LANGHAM.” “It doesn’t look as though he thought you too young,” said Tom when, later, Sam dropped in at Cummings and Wright’s to tell the news. “If he did he wouldn’t bother with your references. I guess you’ve got it, Sam.” And Sam acknowledged that it looked so. The letters of reference went off that evening, one from the High School principal and one from the minister of the church Sam attended. Both were, he considered, undeservedly flattering. They bore immediate result. Just thirty-four hours later another telegram arrived, this time not quite so brief. “Satisfactory. Join camp July fifth. Rail to East Mendon, stage to Indian Lake. Bring grey flannel trousers, blue sleeveless shirt, sweater, sneakers, mackintosh. LANGHAM.” They referred to that telegram at intervals all day. Sam was a bit troubled because it said nothing about socks or a hat, but Nell said she supposed Mr. Langham gave him credit for enough sense to bring such things without being told. “He doesn’t say whether the sweater has to be any special colour, either,” mused Sam. “Mine’s grey.” “That thing!” exclaimed Nell scathingly. “Why, mother’s darned that and darned it, Sam. It isn’t fit to be seen in. You must have a new one.” “Gee, if I buy a new sweater besides all those other things I won’t have any money left! I asked Miller, at the station, what the fare to Indian Lake is and he said it’s four dollars and sixty cents.” “I don’t care, Sam, you can’t take that old sweater. You can get a new one for three dollars, I guess.” “Can’t afford it,” said Sam decisively. “Then I’ll present it to you. I’ve got a lot of money.” “I think,” said Mrs. Craig, “it would be nice if Nellie and I bought those things for you, dear. How much would they cost, do you think?” Sam demurred, but in the end they had their way, and the next morning Sam set out to Cummings and Wright’s with his precious telegram in hand and laid the matter before Tom Pollock.