III
Of course Mrs. Morris remembered when Willard told her.
“Isn’t it funny?” she asked beamingly. “It all comes back to me now. When I went to clear off the table those envelopes were there and I thought to myself, ‘Those are Will’s and he may want them after all, and I’ll just tuck them in his Greek book.’ It was lying on the side table there. And then I forgot all about it! I’m so sorry, Will!”
“It doesn’t matter a bit now,” Willard declared. “How much do you suppose that blue stamp will be worth, mother?”
But Mrs. Morris shook her head. “Goodness knows, Will! But maybe it’ll bring enough to buy you a nice suit of clothes and——”
“Clothes!” scoffed Willard. “That money is going to put me in college. If there isn’t enough of it I’ll get a job somewhere next summer and earn the difference. I heard of a fellowwho made nearly three hundred dollars one summer just selling books!”
“It’s my opinion,” declared Mr. Morris, “that that stamp is worth a whole lot of money and that your grandma knew it.”
“I don’t see how she could, sir,” Willard objected. “Why, even Mr. Chase isn’t certain about it yet.”
“Mother was a great one to read the papers,” said Mrs. Morris, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if she saw sometime that stamps like that were valuable. She was forever cutting things out of newspapers and saving them.”
“We’ll wait and see,” said Mr. Morris. “You’ll find I’m right, son. And if I am I’ll be mighty pleased!”
Waiting, though, was hard work for Willard. For a week he managed to be fairly patient, but at the end of that period he began to be uneasy. “You don’t think they got lost in the mail, do you?” he asked Mr. Chase.
“They couldn’t because I didn’t send them by mail. I was afraid to. I sent them by express and put—well, a good big valuation on them. So, even if they should be lost, Will,you’ll have a lot of money coming to you from the express company.”
That was comforting, anyhow, and there were times when Willard hoped devoutly that the express company had mislaid the package. But it hadn’t. Four days later Willard was called to the telephone at suppertime.
“Will, can you come over here after supper?” It was Mr. Chase’s voice.
“Yes, sir! Have you heard——”
“Yes, I’ve got a letter. You come over——”
“Is it all right, sir? About the blue stamp, I mean.”
“Hm; well, you come over and I’ll tell you.” Something that sounded like a chuckle reached Willard. “Good-by!”
“I’m going over to Mr. Chase’s,” he announced. “He’s heard about the stamp. I don’t want any more supper!”
“What about it, Will?” his father asked eagerly. “How much’s it worth?”
“I don’t know yet. He wouldn’t tell me. Where’s my cap? Anyone seen—— Here it is! I’ll come back right away—if it’s all right!”
“Hello, Will!” greeted Mr. Chase. “Nice evening, isn’t it?” There was a perceptible twinkle in his eye and Willard grinned.
“Yes, sir, it’s a fine evening,” he answered with a gulp.
“Yes, we’re having wonderful weather for the time of year. I got a reply from that fellow in New York. What did I do with it?” Mr. Chase pretended to have mislaid it and dipped into one pocket after another. Willard squirmed in his chair. “Ah, here it is,” said the teacher finally, drawing the letter from his inside pocket. “Now, let’s see.” He opened it with tantalizing deliberation. “I asked him to examine those envelopes and give me an estimate of their value. I didn’t tell him we had four more of them, by the way.”
“No, sir,” murmured Willard.
“Well, he says he will buy the buff one for twelve dollars. That’s less than I hoped to get for them and maybe we might do a little better somewhere else. What do you think?”
“Yes, sir; I mean—I don’t know!” blurted Willard.
“Now in regard to the blue one——” Mr. Chase paused and looked across at the boy. What he saw seemed to please him, for he smiled. “I’ll read you what Watkins says about the blue one, Will. Let—me—see; here we are! ‘Of course you know you’ve got the prize of the year in the “black-on-blue.” I’ll take it off your hands if you want me to, but you’d probably do better at auction. The stamp is in perfect condition and, being on the original envelope, ought to fetch top price. There’s a big auction in December and you’d better let me list it for that if you want to sell it. Your letter doesn’t state whether you do or don’t. I’m keeping the stamps until I hear further. The last Alexandria Postmaster black-on-blue sold two years ago in this city to John Thayer Williams of Philadelphia. It was without envelope and slightly soiled. The price paid was twenty-six hundred. Your stamp ought to bring a couple of hundred more at least. Awaiting your instructions, respectfully yours, W. L. Watkins.’”
Mr. Chase folded the letter and smiled across at the boy.
“Well, what do you think of that, Will?” he asked.
Willard returned the smile rather tremulously.
“I think,” he began. Then he stopped, cleared his throat and began over again. “I think,” he said huskily, “that Grandma Pierson is going to send me to college after all, just as she promised!”