“Lunch is all ready,” said Mrs. McQuade, who had taken a fancy to the red-haired chap already. “Do you want to bring your stuff inside, Mr. Clancy?”
Merriwell hastily explained that Clan was going to stop with Jim Spaulding, and they turned to examine the load heaped in the vacant seat of the machine.
This was composed of two Fardale uniforms, together with a catcher’s mitt, protector, and mask, and a half dozen balls. On these Billy pounced with delight.
“Wait till this afternoon, Chip! We couldn’t do much with those old balls this morning, but we’ll show you something this afternoon! Say, this looks pretty good to me.”
“Something to eat would look pretty good to me,” said Clancy. “I’ve been hitting the high places ever since early this morning. Say, it certainly did feel good to go out and have your mother pump water over me, Billy. Reminded me of days on the farm.”
The three settled down about the table, and Merry at once launched into a description of events at Carsonville. Billy and his mother never tired of watching the bronzed young fellow, who had been regaling Mrs. McQuade with tales of his adventures in Arizona, and Clancy polished off the good things before him with astonishing rapidity.
“It listens good to me,” he commented, with a sigh, when, at length, he could stow no more away. “I hear at Fardale that Billy has developed into quite a backstop, eh?”
“Sure,” said Merry. “He’s a wonder, and no mistake, Clan.”
“Oh, my eye!” sniffed Billy. “Just because I happen to hold on to your double shoots, you needn’t raise my modesty like that!”
“It isn’t every one who can hang on to them,” said Clancy. “Oh, by the way, Chip, I came mighty near forgetting! Your father was at Fardale yesterday on a flying visit.”