He read aloud the
words within, written laboriously in a round, boyish hand:
To George Brander Langshaw, from father.
You Oh me five dolars.
Reseived paiment.
"Hello! Hello! What does this mean?" asked Langshaw slowly, with an
unpleasant startled sensation that any such sum in connection with
George was out of all reason.
"It means a bill for you from me!" announced George. His cheeks grew
redder, his blue eyes looked squarely at his father. "It's for this!" He
pulled from his pocket a school report card divided into tiny ruled
squares, filled with figures for half its length, and flung it down
proudly on the table before his parent.
"It's the Deportment--since September. You said when Miss Skinner sent
that last note home about me that if I could get a hundred in Deportment
for every month up to Christmas you'd be willing to pay me five dollars.
You can see there for yourself, father, the three one hundreds--no, not
that line--that's only fifty-five for spelling; nobody ever knows their
spelling! Here is the place to look--in the Deportment column.
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