Herbert jumped at least two feet in the air when he had finished reading this letter. It offered him an opportunity he had secretly coveted for a long while. He hurried home to show the communication to his mother. Dinner had been served and she was waiting for him. As he took his place at the table, he tossed the envelope over to her.
She read it through carefully. When she reached the postscript a shadow crossed her face.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asked.
He appreciated fully the meaning of that question. He understood that the answer to it meant either the continuance of their present comfortable home life or a temporary painful separation. But he knew his mother well too, and he realized from her tone and manner that she did not intend to advise him one way or the other. She was interested in his welfare and would let him settle the question for himself. Nevertheless she waited, with some anxiety, for the reply. Herbert walked over and put his arms about her shoulders as if to reassure her, and then replied in a low tone:
“I will make my decision within twenty-four hours.”
CHAPTER X WHICH TELLS OF HOW HERBERT CAME TO LEAVE THE TOWN OF CLEVERLY
As soon as he arrived at the office of the Banner on the following morning, Herbert showed Noah Brooks the letter he had received from New York, and said he had not yet decided whether to accept or decline the proffer of the position on the New York Argus.
“It is not a matter of salary, Mr. Brooks,” he said, “but the question of my future. The prospect of an opening in the metropolis is alluring, yet I dislike the idea of leaving Cleverly.”
“Take your time and do the right thing, Herbert,” said the veteran editor. “As you are aware, your time with me expired some months ago, and your further continuance depends entirely upon yourself. I am frank enough to say that there is not much chance of advancement here.”
A few minutes later the young man left the office for the purpose of transacting some business with the postmaster of the town. That official had stepped out for the moment, but his clerk courteously invited Herbert to take a seat in his private office and await his return. For a few minutes the young man whiled away the time by idly turning over the pages of some newspapers that he found upon the postmaster’s desk. Presently his attention was attracted by the sound of footsteps in the outside corridor. It was nearly mail time, and people were assembling for the purpose of receiving their letters and papers. The board partition between the private office and the outside room was very thin, and Herbert could hear bits of conversation. He paid no attention to them at first, but after a while the mention of his father’s name caused him to prick up his ears in wonder. He recognized the voices of the two speakers; one was a well-to-do farmer named Bingham who operated an extensive place just outside of Cleverly; the other, John Peterson, a wholesale grocer, ranked among the leading citizens of the town. They were in a secluded corner of the post office, and after a while their conversation became quite animated. Bingham was doing most of the talking. He said very earnestly: