At first I hardly could believe that I really was on the way. I took Mr. Norton's message out of my pocket and looked at it, to make sure, several times. He had given each of us a message to some one at the end of the line and told us to bring back a receipt or an answer. Mine was to a man in North Adams.
The Bob's Hill boys are used to walking. That didn't bother me any. But somehow this was different from any other walk that I ever had taken. I suppose it was because it was so important and because I was all alone.
I walked along at pretty good speed until I had almost reached the Gingham Grounds. Then I slowed down and kept my eyes open for the Gang, hoping that I should see Jim Donavan somewhere. Jim was their captain and one of our best friends, but some of the others had it in for us.
I had begun to think that I was going to get through all right, without any trouble, when I saw one of them coming toward me. He was one of the best fighters in the Gang, too, and he had a dog with him. Jim was nowhere in sight.
Isn't it queer what things will come into your head when you are scared? Pa says that I can't remember twenty-five cents' worth of groceries from our house to the store; but that is something else.
I was scared, all right, and wanted to run, because fighting always is scary until after you get started. Then, all of a sudden, I thought of something that Pa had once read to me about General Grant. Grant was marching up a hill once, expecting to find the enemy on the other side and wanting to run all the time, only he was too proud. Then when he reached the top, where he could see down into the enemy's camp, he found that they had been more scared than he was and not so proud, for they had run away.
"So," said he, or something like it, "no matter how frightened you are, or how much you want to run, remember that the other fellow probably is just as badly scared as you are."
When I thought of that I braced up and walked along fast, pretending that I was in a hurry and didn't see him, but keeping one eye on him, just the same, and the other on a stone which lay in the road, near where the dog stood whining. The boy was patting his head and trying to coax him along.
He pretended that he didn't see me, too, until I was passing. Then he spoke.
"Hello, you village guy," said he.