“She spoke to me!” he murmured; “she spoke to me, for all that she was with him!”
Obtaining the overcoat, he hastened down through Lobsterville to the bridge, crossed the river, turned to the left and hurried past the post-office on the corner, then made his way home by a back street.
Don dreaded to meet his father, for he knew Dr. Scott would question him about the game. It was his intention to make a pretense of being so disgusted over the result of the game that he did not wish to say anything about it; but he wondered what he could do in case his father pinned him down to tell the exact score.
Fortunately, his father was not at home, as he found after slipping quietly into the house, and he learned from his aunt that the doctor had been called to a neighboring town to consult over a critical case.
“He said he might not get home before eight or nine o’clock,” said the thoughtful old soul, who had supper ready to put on the table. “I s’pose you’re awful hungry? You didn’t get no legs nor arms broke to-day, did you?”
“No, I didn’t get hurt at all.”
“Fortunate—fortunate, indeed! I didn’t know but you’d come home dead.” Then, after a pause, “I s’pose you beat the Highlanders?”
“No; they beat us.”
“I declare!” cried Aunt Ella, sympathetically, stopping half way from the kitchen door to the dining-room table, the teapot in one hand and a plate of warm rolls in the other. “Now, that’s too bad! I’m real sorry!”
“And I’m real hungry. Just hustle on the grub, Aunt Ella, and see me wreak havoc and destruction on it.”