Chapter XIII: Westy Makes a Decision

Two weeks had passed by and still Artie was unable to return to school. His foot was slow in mending and he still limped about painfully.

“I ought to be able to get out by spring at least,” he called cheerfully to Westy, who was on his way home from school.

“Aw, don’t get discouraged, Art,” Westy returned feelingly, as he walked up to the Van Arlen residence and seated himself alongside of Artie in the porch swing. “You’ll be out before Thanksgiving, I bet.”

“Gee, I hope so anyway!” Artie doubtfully exclaimed. “Still, I’d be worse off if I was dead.”

“Now you’re saying something!” Westy put in, feeling a pang of conscience, for before he had reached Artie’s home he was wondering how he would tell him of the proposition his father had put up to him. It wouldn’t be sporting to tell him now, he thought. It would be better not to tell him at all--that is not until his foot was entirely better and by that time perhaps he would have considered the matter thoroughly and decide to the contrary.

Not that Westy had contemplated anything definite as yet. Oh, no! But he had pondered it over until he couldn’t think of anything else and was at his wit’s end between wanting to go and the debt he owed to Artie.

He thought as he neared home that it was a bit of luck that Artie had not brought up the subject.

That night, Mr. Martin again broached the conversation along those lines.

“Son,” he said, looking straight at Westy and with decision, “you have until the end of this week to make up your mind as to whether you prefer going with Archie or staying home this summer.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Westy sadly.

“Archie has told me,” Mr. Martin resumed, “that he will decide Sunday as to where in the West he wants to go. He’s going to get some booklets from the different railroads and then he will start next week to make reservations.”

“Why next week, when summer is such a long way off?” Westy queried.

“Why? Because, my dear boy, Mr. Captroop is a very unusual young man and thoroughly conservative in everything he does. Consequently, he’s not putting off until the last minute what can be done next week and, furthermore, he always makes sure of where and what he’s going to do before he starts out.”

“Quite a remarkable person,” Mrs. Martin remarked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Mother-like, Mrs. Martin resented Archie Captroop being held up as an example to her son, for his lovable romantic and non-conservative traits were the very things that endeared him to her most.

Doris Martin, who was expecting the cause of the discussion to call on her that certain Wednesday evening, entered the room.

“Well,” she said, “I hope Mr. Captroop takes me somewhere this evening instead of sitting around buzzing like a stock ticker!”

“You ought to be thankful,” said Mr. Martin, “that he saves his money instead of throwing it away on some senseless movie that doesn’t teach you anything. My motto is never to spend your money on something that doesn’t bring you a full return.”

“Horrors, Father!” exclaimed Doris. “You talk like a confirmed moralist.”

The door bell rang its warning of Archie’s arrival, so she hurried to the door.

“Do not speak about it to-night,” Mr. Martin warned Westy. “It would be more proper for you to go to his house and extend the invitation--that is, if you have decided,” he added meaningly.

The strains of some popular waltz were drifting in from the living room, so Westy knew it meant that Archie Captroop would add one more dollar to his savings account that evening.

He decided to go up to his room, as his mother was busily sewing and non-committal. She was heartily in sympathy with her son, but she dared not show it.

The first book Westy picked up in his room was the one Artie had been telling about and loaned to him two weeks ago. He had not read it before, for he thought it would only be adding insult to injury and also too tempting.

But he could not resist it this particular evening with the fate of this promised adventure lying in the hollow of his hand.

In the dark silence of his room some hours later he argued the point with himself, that he couldn’t have much fun with that “Claptrap” guy if he did go, for he’d probably want to sit around like some old lady and not want to do anything but read the whole time.

“Still,” a little voice inside him whispered, “it’s far better than staying home, isn’t it?”

“I suppose that’s right,” Westy declared, weakening. Then feeling a little mean for giving voice to the thought he added: “I could ask Archie Saturday afternoon and I wouldn’t have to say anything to Artie about it, for a while, anyway!”

So Westy made his decision.