rose feeling very wretched after an all but
sleepless night. He did not know what he should do that day. He might go
up to Grantley Square and apologize, but you cannot, by apology, undo
what is done.

While he was cooking his breakfast he thought of Pee-wee--Pee-wee who
was always so gay and enthusiastic, who worshipped Roy, and who "did not
mind being jollied." He would be ashamed to face Pee-wee even if that
redoubtable scout pacer were sublimely innocent of what had taken place.

At about noon he saw Tom coming up the lawn. He looked a little
shamefaced as Tom came in and sat down without a word.

"I--I was going to go down to see you," said Roy. "I--I feel different
now. I can see straight. I wish I hadn't----"

"I've got a letter for you," said Tom, disinterestedly. "I was told to
deliver it."

"You--were you at Temple's?"

"There isn't any answer," said Tom, with his usual exasperating
stolidness.

Roy hesitated a moment. Then, as one will take a dose of medicine
quickly to have it over, he grasped the envelope, tore it open, and
read:

"Dear Mary--Since you butted in Tom and I have decided it would be best
for Pee-wee to go with _him_ and I'll stay home. Anyway, that's what
_I've_ decided. So you'll get your wish, all right, and I should worry.

"ROY."

He looked up into Tom's almost expressionless countenance.
"Who--told--you to deliver it--Tom?"

"I told myself. You said you'd call the whole thing off for two cents.
But you ought not to expect me to pay the two cents----"

"Didn't I put a stamp on it?" said Roy, looking at the envelope.

"If you want to put a stamp on it now," said Tom, "I'll go and mail it
for you--but I--I didn't feel I cared to trust you for two cents--over
night."

Through glistening eyes Roy looked straight at Tom, but found no
response in that dogged countenance. But he knew Tom, and knew what to
expect from him. "You old grouch," he shouted, running his hand through
Tom's already tousled and rebellious hair. "Why don't you laugh? So you
wouldn't trust me for two cents, you old Elk skinflint, wouldn't you.
Well, then, the letter doesn't get mailed, that's all, for I happen to
have only one stamp left and that's going to Pee-wee Harris. Come on,
get your wits to work now, and we'll send him the invitation in the form
of a verse, what d'you say?"

He gave Tom such a push that even he couldn't help laughing as he
staggered against the tent-pole.

"I'm no good at writin