"I'll not open it here for you to watch me. They're awful
pryin' in this office. What do you bet she hasn't opened
it?" He moved aside as others pressed up to the wicket,
feeling that every eye was upon him.
In a corner outside the door, Tom opened his letter, and
laboriously made out its contents. It was written neatly
with carefully shaded capitals:
Dear Tom: We are going to have a party to-morrow night,
because George and Fred are going back to college next
week. We want you to come and bring your Englishman.
We all hope you will come.
Ever your friend,
NELLIE SLATER.
Tom read it again with burning cheeks. A party at Slater's
and him invited!
He walked down the street feeling just the same as when
his colt got the prize at the "Fair." He felt he was a
marked man--eagerly sought after--invited to parties--girls
writing to him! That's what it was to have the cash!--you
bet pa and ma were right!--money talks every time!
When he came in sight of home his elation vanished. His
father and mother would not let him go, he knew that very
well. They were afraid that Nellie Slater wanted to marry
him. And Nellie Slater was not eligible for the position
of daughter-in-law. Nellie Slater had never patched a
quilt nor even made a tie-down. She always used baking
powder instead of cream of tartar and soda, and was known
to have a leaning toward canned goods. Mrs. Motherwell
considered her just the girl to spend a man's honest
earnings and bring him to seedy ruin.
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