"Hold on!" exclaimed Dick, hotly. "Remember that she was _my_ mother," and he spoke the word softly, for she had not been dead many years. "Ahem! Wa'al, I didn't mean anything," stammered Mr. Larabee. "Say, I've got to hustle to get my train," he added, quickly, looking at an ancient silver watch, which he pulled out of his pocket by means of a leather thong. "Come and see us at Dankville, Nephew Richard. Your aunt will be glad to have you, but you can't expect such meals as this," he went on hastily. "You know she has the dyspepsia, and she can't eat much, so I don't buy much. But come and see us." Dick mumbled something not quite distinguishable, and the meal came to an end. "I guess I'll just take some of this meat that's left over, and make myself a couple of sandwiches," said Mr. Larabee, suiting the action to the word. "No use in letting it go to waste," he added. "And I might get hungry before we get to Dankville. This will save me buying anything on the train," and wrapping up the sandwiches in a piece of newspaper he thrust them into his pocket. "Thank goodness I didn't take him to one of the tables with the fellows!" whispered Dick, as he winked at Paul. "He sure is the limit!" "This way to the trolley that goes to the depot," said Dick, as he escorted his uncle across the parade ground, Paul having excused himself. "I'm not going to take the trolley, Nephew Richard. I have plenty of time to walk the distance, and there is no use wasting five cents. It is grass most of the way, and I won't wear out my shoes none to speak of. I'm going to walk." "All right," assented Dick, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Good-bye. I'd go with you, but we have guard mount soon, and I'm officer of the day." "Foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted Mr. Larabee, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "You had better think twice about wasting money on that touring car, too, Nephew Richard. Don't take it--take the money and invest it." "I would rather have the car, Uncle Ezra. Remember me to Aunt Samanthy." "Um!" mumbled Mr. Larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the railroad. A trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the station, but he did not signal for it to stop. "He's happy," mused Dick. "He didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. Oh, he's happy all right. But, excuse me!" Just then Grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable, came rushing out to meet his master. Then the dog caught sight of the vanishing figure of Uncle Ezra, and with a growl sprang in that direction. "Here! Come back, Grit!" yelled Dick. "Come back!" The bulldog paused. Mr. Larabee looked back. The temptation was too much for the animal. He made another rush. "Call him back! Call him back!" yelled Mr. Larabee, breaking into a run. "If he bites me, Nephew Richard, I'll sue your father for damages! Call him back!"