train comes in, so I may not see you again. Good-by.”
He reached out his huge, red hand and Hugh shook it, still half dazed.
“Did you write that letter to the Indian?” he said, and, as the other nodded, “Give it to me. I haven’t decided yet but I—I might need it.”
Jethro pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to him.
“No, no,” he cried, immediately after, “it is not the right thing at all for you to go. Do not think about it again. Here’s the train. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” said Hugh, still in doubt, “good-by and good luck.”
Jethro strode away down the platform just as the big locomotive came thundering in. Hugh was turning slowly toward the Pullman coaches at the further end when he heard quick short footsteps behind him and little Carl Ingmarsson very red and breathless came panting up.
“I wanted to say good-by,” he said; “we never knew you were going until Mother told us.”
