"Your salary," he said,
hurriedly, "and expense money for the trip."
"Oh!" Betty Jo's exclamation was one of surprise. Then she said, in
her most matter-of-fact, businesslike tone: "Thank you. I will render a
statement of my account, but--" For once, Betty Jo seemed at a loss for
words. "You don't mind if I ask--is--is this money--?"
Brian's face was a study. "Yes," he said, "it is really Auntie Sue's
money; but it is all I have, and I can't return it to her--without her
knowing--so I--"
Betty Jo interrupted: "I understand. It is all we can do,--forgive me?"
Brian Kent did not know that Betty Jo, a few minutes later, buried the
envelope he had given her deep in the bottom of her trunk without even
opening it.
The next day, Brian drove to Thompsonville with Betty Jo, who took the
noon train for the East.
The two were rather quiet as "Old Prince" jogged soberly along the
beautiful river road. Only now and then did they exchange a few words of
the most commonplace observation.
They were within sight of the little Ozark settlement when Brian said,
earnestly: "I wish I could tell you, Miss Williams, just what your
coming to help me with this work has meant to me."
"It has meant a great deal to me, too, Mr. Burns," she returned.
Then she added quickly: "I suppose the first real work one does after
finishing school always means more than any position following could
possibly mean, don't you think? Just like your book.
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