"It isn't necessary. No need of wearing out the wires that way. I can wait. I hear he has some foolish notion of sending you to a military school." "I am going to a military academy, Uncle Ezra, in accordance with my mother's wishes." "Stuff and nonsense! A wicked waste of money! The ordinary schools were good enough for me, and they ought to be good enough for you. It's a sinful waste of money. Mortimer Hamilton ought to be ashamed of himself. The money ought to go to the heathen. It's foolish." "My father doesn't think so," replied Dick as quietly as he could, though he was fast becoming angry at the dictatorial tone of his crabbed uncle. "Hum! Much he knows about it! The idea of putting such ideas into boys' heads as fighting and killing. Hu!" "But it might be useful in case of war." "Stuff and nonsense! It's positively wicked, I tell you. I've come to remonstrate with Mortimer about it. If he has to go to Europe, which is another waste of money, he could leave you with me. I'd bring you up in the way you should go. There's no nonsense about me, nor my wife, either. If your father consents to having you come to my place, you'll learn more than you would at any military academy. Stuff and nonsense! Don't talk to me! I know!" Dick could not repress a shudder as he thought of his uncle's gloomy home in Dankville, a house amid a clump of fir trees, so dark, so quiet and so lonesome that it reminded him of a vault in the cemetery. "I think my father has made up his mind to send me to the military academy," said the boy. "Well, perhaps I can make him change his mind. He doesn't know what's good for boys." How Uncle Ezra Larabee could understand what lads needed, never having had any sons of his own, was more than Dick could fathom, but he said nothing. "I'll wait and see your father," went on the crabbed man. "I can get my automobile and take you to the bank," suggested Dick. "No, you might burst a tire, and that would cost something to fix." Dick could hardly repress a smile at the idea of a possible injured tire standing in the way of an auto ride. "What's that girl walking back and forth so much for in the next room?" asked Uncle Ezra suddenly. "That's the maid, clearing away the breakfast things." "Hum! She'll wear the carpet out," commented the old man. "I must speak to Mortimer about it. I think I'll caution her now." He rose, to do this, but accidentally stepped on one of Grit's legs, as the animal was reposing under a chair, where Dick had sent him to get him out of the way. The dog let out a howl, and then a savage growl, and made for the man he felt had purposely injured him. "Hold him! Catch him!" cried Uncle Ezra, as he sprang away. "Hold him, Nephew Richard!" "Grit!" called Dick. "Come here!"