"Well, I don't to any one else. Somehow
a fellow always feels as if he could say just what he thinks to
you, Jed Winslow. I feel that way, anyhow."
He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early November twilight.
Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving dinner at home and then leave
for camp on the afternoon train.
"Well, good-by," he said.
Jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp.
"Oh, don't say good-by; it's just 'See you later,'" he replied.
Leander smiled. "Of course. Well, then, see you later, Jed.
We'll write once in a while; eh?"
Jed promised. The young fellow strode off into the dusk. Somehow,
with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, he
seemed to typify Young America setting cheerfully forth to face--
anything--that Honor and Decency may still be more than empty words
in this world of ours.
CHAPTER XIV
The Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. Even
Captain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed
to do so with reluctance.
"Yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his
guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' everything. Of
course 'tain't what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy's eatin'-
house on Atlantic Avenue, but it's pretty good--as I say, when
everything's considered."
His daughter was highly indignant.
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