Give him as easy a berth as you can, and let me know
from time to time what progress he is making. His name is Ralph
Granger, and he is as plucky as he looks.
Your cousin and friend,
THEODORE SHARD.
To CAPTAIN MARK GARY,
Marshall House, Savannah.
This seemed flattering enough. As Ralph expressed his thanks, he
repressed a fleeting idea that the tone of the letter was most too much
that way.
Shard shook him by the hand, and was about to retire when he appeared
to recollect something.
"Need any money, for clothes, and so on?"
"I have enough to do me," said Ralph. "You have done enough already,
and I----"
"Never mind that. Emmons will settle board bills, and get your ticket
in Augusta. Good by. Let me hear a good account of you when Gary
writes."
With a final nod and smile that was almost fatherly, the captain
disappeared.
Emmons had already mounted. Ralph quickly did likewise, and the two,
with their four footed charges, rode out of the yard through a gate
that was closed behind them by a negro hostler.
At first the five mules Ralph was leading, besides the one he rode, did
not travel well together. His arm was wrenched almost unbearably in
the effort to keep them up to the pace Emmons was setting.
The latter, looking back, called out:
"Make your halter fast to your saddle bow. Then lay the whip on."
The boy did so, and they were presently clattering down the street at a
pace that made a stray policeman wave his club warningly.
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