This remark showed Gus to be possessed of so mean and paltry a spirit, and the wish expressed in it was so perfectly ridiculous, that Ned burst into a loud laugh. He could not help it. Gus looked sharply at him for a moment, and continued his walk up and down the porch, whipping his boots at every step. He was greatly amazed, as every young fellow is, when he learns for the first time that he is not an absolute necessity, and that the world will wag just as well without him as it will with him. Gus thought, of course, that his parents were very much distressed over what he had done, and that the letter was written to urge him to return at once and relieve their suspense; but, instead of that, his father seemed to take the matter very coolly, and did not even give up his contemplated trip to the mountains, because Gus was not there to take part in it. “I’ll never go back!” declared the boy, flourishing his whip in the air. “I’ll stay here until you get tired of keeping me, and then I’ll go to work at something—I don’t care what it is—so long as I don’t have to sell dry-goods!” “I wish that letter had been lost on the way,” said Ned, “for it has taken all the spirit out of you. You were bright and lively this morning, and were beginning to act like the Gus Robbins I used to know in Foxboro’.” “I’m the same fellow now!” said Gus, tearing the letter into the smallest possible fragments, and throwing them over the railing for the wind to carry away. “Let’s go somewhere and do something!” The boys mounted their horses, which were standing, saddled and bridled, at the foot of the stairs, and rode away; but the gloom which had been thrown over their spirits went with them, and the letter was the only thing they could talk about. Gus could not forget that trouting excursion to the Adirondacks. He had longed and hoped for that as he had never longed and hoped for anything else, and it was very provoking to know that it was to take place now, after he had put it out of his power to enjoy it. He would have done a year’s hard work in the store and given up his Texas scheme for it very gladly. He didn’t care for horses, guns or dogs; but he was an enthusiastic fisherman, and nothing suited him better than to get away by himself, and wander up and down the banks of some retired stream, in which the pools were deep and the speckled beauties abundant. But all his chances for such sport were gone now—lost, too, by a deliberate act of his own—and Gus felt angry at himself when he thought about it. “Then don’t think about it at all,” said Ned, as Gus gave utterance to the thoughts that were passing through his mind. “Think about something more agreeable. Give up all idea of ever going back to Foxboro’!” “O, I have given it up!” said Gus. “But it provokes me almost beyond measure when I think——” He finished the sentence by shaking his riding-whip in the air.