“Do you fellows feel too tired to come around tonight?” asked Bob, as the group paused at the gate of his home. “I’m fixing up that new vario-coupler of mine, and it’s a dandy.”
“I’ll be there,” replied Joe, all his weariness forgotten at the magic thought of radio.
“I guess I will,” replied Herb. “But, oh, boy, that little bed of mine looks awfully good to me!”
“I’ll see how I feel after supper,” conceded Jimmy.
“You won’t see anything after supper,” gibed Joe. “You’ll be so full that you can’t see out of your eyes.”
“I’ll need a lot to keep me going,” explained Jimmy. “I’ve gone through more today than the rest of you fellows. Nobody hit you with a baseball in the pit of the stomach.”
“Sure enough,” laughed Bob. “I suppose that left a dent that you’ll have to straighten out. Well, so long, fellows. Come around if you can.”
It goes without saying that there was an increasing buzz of conversation around the supper tables in four Clintonia homes that evening. The boys were full of the afternoon’s adventures, and in response to eager questions were forced to tell over and over again the details of the accident. They almost forgot to eat in the excitement of the narrative. All, that is, except Jimmy. He never forgot.
After supper Herb conquered his desire for bed, and as Jimmy, belying Joe’s prophecy, could still see out of his eyes, the two went around to Bob’s home, where they found that Joe had preceded them.
For a time the boys talked over the stirring happenings of the afternoon, and then they proceeded to Bob’s room, where they were deep in examining the improvements to his radio set when the doorbell rang.