“We’re going to stay right here until I get what I came for,” he declared stoutly. “We’re going to find a place to live first of all. This is too expensive, I reckon. How much money have you got, June?”
“I got forty-seven dollars an’ ninety-three cents,” replied June proudly. “I reckon that’ll keep us here mos’ all summer, Mas’ Wayne, if that fool man don’ give you that position before.”
“All right, June. Now I’m going to write a letter. Then we’ll have some dinner and try to find a boarding-house afterward. You stay here, Sam.”
The letter, written at one of the sloping desks that lined a wall in the little hotel lobby, was short but decided. It was addressed to Jim Mason and announced that Wayne would not be back to his job but was going to remain in Harrisville. It didn’t go into details at all and it ended up with thanks to Jim for his kindness and love to Mrs. Mason and Terry and a promise to see him the first time he returned to Medfield. He considered writing to Arthur Pattern, too, but decided to wait for a day or two longer. Then, having burned his bridges behind him, Wayne accompanied June to a nearby restaurant and ate a very satisfactory dinner.
[CHAPTER XVIII]
“BADGERS” VS. “BILLIES”
They found a boarding-place without difficulty less than a square from the hotel. It was not very prepossessing and even June was inclined to turn up his nose at it. However, June’s nose was not shaped for turning-up purposes, and Wayne reminded him that they couldn’t expect much for two dollars and a half a week, and so he didn’t. They engaged a small and illy-lighted little apartment with one very grimy window that looked out into the rear premises of an iron foundry. The view, while not exactly inspiriting, was at least not monotonous, for the foundry provided movement and noise; to say nothing of smoke. Their landlady was frowsy and sleepy-looking and toddled away in evident relief the instant Wayne had deposited the first week’s board money in her hand, leaving them to debate whether the one small towel was intended to serve both occupants. The furniture consisted of two narrow cots pushed side by side, one chair, a decrepit bureau, and a metal washstand. There was a tattered rug on the floor and an equally tattered sash curtain at the lone window. (The rug was tossed into the hallway that night after Wayne had caught his foot in a hole and fallen against the bureau.) The cots looked ready to collapse of their own weight, but proved equal to the tasks set them, although they complained horribly every time Wayne or June turned over in them.
But that was later. After settling their few belongings into place the boys, followed, you may be certain, by Sam, sallied forth again. It was mid-afternoon by that time and Wayne led the way hurriedly along the street in the direction of the distant ball park. To part with fifty cents of their combined fortunes seemed, on the face of it, pure recklessness, but Wayne soothed his conscience by telling himself that a fellow ought to know something about the ball team he was going to join. June’s conscience troubled him not a whit. June was as pleased as Punch at the idea of seeing a ball game. Sam—well, we don’t know what Sam thought about it. He seemed, however, perfectly willing to accompany the expedition.
The game was well into the first half of the third inning when the two boys settled themselves in their places on the bleachers. There had been a trifle of difficulty in persuading the man at the gate to allow the passage of the dog, a difficulty which Sam had solved by taking the matter under his own control and trotting past. The ticket taker had threatened to have the dog removed, but his threat had seemed to lack conviction and the boys were not troubled. Wayne was surprised to note the smallness of the attendance. The reserved sections were merely sprinkled with spectators and more than half of the bleacher seats were empty. Possibly six hundred persons were on hand, but surely no more.