_ Chapter XX. "The Money We Earnt for You"
Life went on uneventfully save for the dire doings of "Them Three." Knowing that they were to be sent to school, they were having their last fling at life untrammeled. September came, and Rob set the day for his departure, as he was going home to arrange his affairs, so he and Beth could leave for an extended honeymoon trip. I planned to go with Rob and install the Polydore three in their distant school. They were so despondent at leaving, as the time drew near, that a feeling of gloom hung over the household, all the members of which, even to Huldah, urged me to relent. But I remained adamant until the evening before the day set for the dissolution of the Polydore family, when something happened that changed all our plans.
We were assembled in the library in a state of forced cheerfulness when the doorbell rang. I answered it, and receipted for a telegram which I opened and read in the hall. It was from Chester K. Winslow.
"Silvia," I said gravely, as I returned to the library, "your Uncle Issachar is dead. Died in South America. Heart disease. Very sudden."
Conflicting emotions were depicted in Silvia's expression.
The thought uppermost in all our minds was expressed simultaneously by "Them Three."
"Gee! Then you can keep the money we earnt for you."
"You know," interpolated Rob in soft-pedaled tone, "they are going to train school children toward the military--teach the young ideas how to shoot, as it were. It won't be long before they are ordered to Mexico to protect us."
"If Them Three ever meets that there Viller man," commented Huldah confidently, "the fur will fly some."
"Lucien," said Silvia thoughtfully, "we are under obligations to these children, you see, after all."
"Yes," I acknowledged with a sigh, "seeing they are now ours, bought and paid for, I suppose we'll have to treat them as such."
"You wouldn't send your own kids away to school," said Pythagoras significantly.
"No," I reluctantly allowed, answering the protest of Pythagoras, "and we won't send you. You will all go to the public school tomorrow."
The deafening Polydore powwow that followed made me hope that Uncle Issachar had met with his just deserts.
[THE END]
Belle Kanaris Maniates's Book: Our Next-Door Neighbors
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