On Wednesday the first mail brought to Robert Owen a letter from one of his correspondents in Terryville, which contained one short passage more interesting than all the rest: "They say Ned Carle is coming home to stay. His father says he's disappointed in the school; it's too expensive and they don't make the boys work as they ought to."
Could it be true? Was Carle really going to leave? The baseball crowd surely knew nothing of any such plan.
Rob jammed his hat on his head and hurried over to Carter 13. The door was locked; his knocks roused only hollow echoes. He ran downstairs and stampeded across the yard. At the gate he met Poole.
"I was coming to see you," Rob began eagerly. "I've just had a letter from a friend of mine at home. There's something in it that'll interest you." He read the passage aloud. "What do you think of that?" he asked, lifting his eyes in serious question to the captain's face.
"Rot!" exclaimed Poole, contemptuously. "I don't believe a word of it. Why, he was pitching to Borland yesterday afternoon!"
"But I couldn't raise him this morning," said Rob, his eagerness somewhat chilled.
"Oh, he wouldn't sneak off like that without a peep. Let's hunt him up and see what he says about it."
They crossed the yard in silence and ascended the stairs in Carter; Rob ashamed of his credulity, Poole clinging to his assurance, yet secretly agitated at the frightful possibility. As they neared Room 13, Poole, who was ahead, perceived that the door was ajar, and turned about with a triumphant smile.
"It's all right; he's here," he called, giving a whack at the door that opened it wide.