“Well, I think it can be done. I shall return tomorrow night or early the following morning. You will be free for these two days. Have a good time; remember, we pay 90 all your expenses—nothing is too good for you. If you can, come down the day after tomorrow. I may have some news for you.”
“I shall be glad to come down,” answered Ted, as he wondered at the news to which Strong had reference.
They spent a half hour or more going over the events of the evening, Strong’s secretary taking notes. Then Ted left and returned home.
That afternoon he took his mother to the ball game and saw the Cubs defeat the Giants. He tried to explain the game to his mother, who pretended an interest and tried hard to understand. But she found her truant fancy going elsewhere—it centered about this boy of hers, her daughter and also about the husband who could not endure the troubleous times, not because of the hardship to himself so much as the hardship to her and the child.
Ted’s interest was not divided, however, except in rare moments when he would turn to his mother and accuse her of lack of interest. She would flush guiltily and pretend that she was interested. She would ask a question or two, but her very questions convicted 91 her, showed her inability to understand, and Ted gave it up as a hopeless job and comforted himself in the belief that only men understood the game, it was too deep for women, excepting one or two, who knew something.
As they rode home the boy and the mother discussed the improvement in their condition.
“We will never have to worry any more, mother, not as long as I am able,” the boy said, with all of youth’s surety and confidence.
Mrs. Marsh wiped an unbidden tear from her eye.
“I am very happy, dear. And yet, I would give so much if your father was one of us. He was a fine man, but things were against him, too much so.”
Ted did not answer, he felt that nothing he could say would help.