Chapter 26: Saturday the Twenty-first

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌⁠To-day is Dinky-Dunk's birthday. He's always thought, of course, that I'm a pauper, and never dreamed of my poor little residuary nest-egg. I'd ordered a box of Okanagan Valley apples, and a gramophone and a dozen opera records, and a brier-wood pipe and two pounds of English "Honey-Dew," and a smoking-jacket, and some new ties and socks and shirts, and a brand new Stetson, for Dinky-Dunk's old ha