“Splendid!” exclaimed Mary.
“Jimmie’s popular in high school,” John went on. “And yet, I’m sure he never tried for popularity. He likes doing things, all sorts of things. If this makes him popular that’s O. K. with Jimmie. If it doesn’t, that’s O. K. too.
“He was outstanding as a basketball star on his team,” he went on after ordering another cup of coffee. “But I’ll swear you’d never guess it to see him play. He didn’t do any dancing about, not a useless motion, but every now and again you’d see him have the ball, watch it shoot up and in, then hear the crowd roar. You can’t make much out of a kid like that,” he ended with a drawl.
“No,” Mary agreed. “But in the end he’ll make a lot out of himself. You’ll see. I love the way he looks you straight in the eyes. So many boys look all over the lot while you’re looking at them, as if they had something to hide. Nothing like that with Jimmie.”
“That’s right,” John agreed. “I look for him to go places and do things. Well,” he rose, “tomorrow’s another day. See you in the morning.” He disappeared through a narrow door that led to the depot and his train.
Late as it was when Jimmie at last found himself in bed he did not fall asleep at once. The new wine of adventure had set his blood on fire. He had tried something strange. It had worked. “At least,” he thought with a chuckle, “I shot an ear. Next time I’ll do better.”
Would he? What was to follow? Would they get their man? And that thousand dollar reward? Who would be the lucky one? He thought of John. John Nightingale, the reporter, was always hard up, always shabby. He borrowed money on Mondays before paydays.
Then he thought of Mary Dare. She, too, was poor. She had not been a reporter very long. Her salary was small. What would not the reward do for these?
“She’ll get on,” John had said, speaking of Mary, “Dare’s the right name for her. She’s not afraid to tackle anything.”
Tom Howe? Well, he didn’t know so much about Tom.