If Tom had been angry at him, his conscience would be easier now; but
Tom seldom got mad.
In imagination he followed that letter to the Temple home. He saw it
laid at Mary's place at the dining table. He saw her come dancing in to
breakfast and pick it up and wave it gaily. He saw John Temple reading
his paper at the head of the table and advising with Mary, who was his
partner in the Temple Camp enterprise. He knew it was for her sake quite
as much as for the scouts that Mr. Temple had made this splendid gift,
and he knew (for he had dined at Grantley Square) just how father and
daughter conferred together. Why, who was it but Mary that told John
Temple there must be ten thousand wooden plates and goodness knows how
many sanitary drinking cups? Mary had it all marked in the catalogues.
Roy pictured her as she opened the letter and read it,--that rude,
selfish note. He wondered what she would say. And he wondered what John
Temple would think. It would be such a surprise to her that poor little
Pee-wee was not wanted.
In the morning Roy arose 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.
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