“I don’t remember. I didn’t say very much. I just told him what you had said. Probably I didn’t put it strongly enough.”
Mr. Borden laughed and said, “Never mind, my boy. I’ll have a little talk with Dan.”
“I wish you would, father! I don’t know that it will do any good, but there’s no harm in trying anyway.”
“Let me see—how many was it that Dan struck out in the game with the Benson nine?”
“You know already,” replied Walter a trifle tartly.
“Twenty-six?”
“No, sir. Fifteen.”
“That’s a good record. Well, I’ll see Dan soon.”
Walter’s eagerness and impatience increased when apparently his father forgot or ignored his promise. Not a word concerning his promised interview was said that evening nor on the morning following. It was late Saturday afternoon when Mr. Borden told his boy that he was about to go to Dan’s home and that he wished to go alone.
“You’ll need me,” pleaded Walter. “You don’t know Dan as well as I do.”