“Of course,” said Rodman.
Brian spoke suddenly. “Where have you played?”
Rodman, flushing, hesitated for an answer. Pelham struck in quickly: “What ’s the difference? And say, Rodman, there ’s swimming, and hare and hounds. We have pretty good times.”
Rodman spoke slowly, and with evident reluctance. “I suppose my ankle will be well again soon, and my wrist. But, you know, I can’t spend my time playing, for I have n’t any money. I can’t live on Nate here, I must go to work.”
“Whew!” whistled Pelham. But he raised no objection. He knew plenty of lads in the town who, though no older than himself, were beginning their work in the mill. Nevertheless, Rodman seemed not that kind of boy. Surely he was better bred than they. “What shall you do?” he asked. “There 's work in the mill, of course, and you 're above legal age. I ’m sure Father would give you a job. But you would n’t care for that sort of thing.”
“T ’ve done worse,”’ stated Rodman. “I ’ve been waiter in a city restaurant—hot, greasy, doleful work!”
“I should think so!” agreed Pelham, heartily.
“Where was the restaurant?”’ demanded Brian.
Again came the hesitation to answer, and again Pelham interposed: “The mill would be better than that. Or you might find light work outdoors.”
Nate, approaching from the house, heard the last remark. “Rodman ’s going to stay here with me,” he said positively. “I can give him work.”
“You!” cried Pelham. “Why, Nate, you ’'ve always refused to take any one to work with you!”
“’S all right,” declared Nate, sturdily. “I never before saw a feller I could believe in. Every one that ever applied to me was of the kind that only wanted to learn my secrets in order to sell ’em. But I know when I can trust; and Rodman, he can work with me if he wants to.” He looked at the boy. “We have holidays here whenever we want ’em. The air ’s better here than in the mill, an’ the pay ’s jes’ as good.”
“Will you take me in?” laughed Pelham.
“Cert’,” answered Nate. “But first you ask your pa if he ’d let you come. And now—" His hand, which he had been holding behind his back, he suddenly revealed as holding bottles.
“Root-beer!” cried Pelham, springing up. “Oh, Nate!”
“One for you,” said Nate, smiling. “Rodman, he had n’t better have some till next week. But your cousin can have the other bottle, if he ’s willin’ to drink out of it.”
“I’ll try it,” said Brian, gingerly.
“Drank only a couple o’ swallers of it!” grumbled Nate, a half-hour later, when the boys had gone. He emptied the bottle upon the grass. “Fust boy I ever see that did n't like my root-beer. Rodman, I guess you an’ I will agree on that young gentleman.”
On his way homeward, Brian tried to make Pelham agree with him about Nate. “Confound his root-beer,” he said. “I never drink the stuff.”
“Then you need n’t have spoiled a bottle for him,” suggested Pelham. “We all like it.”
“I don’t see what you can find in him,” went on Brian. “He ’s quite rough and uncultivated.”
“Of course,” laughed Pelham. “Otherwise he would n’t be Nate. But, Brian, why did you try to make Rodman recollect about himself? Father specially told us not to.”
“That fellow has n’t lost his memory,” declared Brian. “If he remembers what he has done, he can remember where and when he did it.”
“Not necessarily,” retorted Pelham. “Did n’t you hear the doctor explain last night that a man could remember the one and forget the other? Persons and places, names and dates, he will forget, while he will remember that he can do, or even that he has done, one thing or another.”
“How are we,” asked Brian, “to know that he ’s forgotten things unless we ask him?”
“If he gets to worrying about his memory,” replied Pelham, “he ’s much less likely to get it back. That’s why they want us to ask him nothing.”
“Why does n’t he ask about himself?” demanded Brian.
“I can’t tell you,” answered Pelham. “I think such things are none of our business. And I tell you again, Brian, that if once you really run up against Father, you ’ll get a jolt.”
Pelham spoke good-naturedly, but the warning was plain. Brian gave one last grumble: “I think he ’s putting it all on.”
Chapter VII
NATE HAS A PLAN
