“What a funny little green cap,” she commented. “That’s Freshman, isn’t it? Are you a Sheddon Freshman?”
Purdick nodded. “For a few days longer—until the grade markings are handed out.”
“I’ve got a brother in the Freshman class. I wonder if you know him. I’m Ruth McKnight.”
“Know Ollie McKnight? I should say I do! He’s one of the best friends I’ve had this year.”
“That’s nice,” said the girl. “I guess you’re the ‘Purdy’ he’s been writing about in his letters. You’re the Red-Wagon boy.”
Purdick hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant, but he was handsomely forgetting the McKnight millions when he said: “I’m anything Ollie wants to call me.”
That was all there was time for at the moment. Larry had been down in the wreck getting one of the seat cushions for the lady to sit on while she waited, and as he was climbing out, another auto came along headed townward. The farmer driving it stopped on the farther edge of things and called across to the “survivors” of the wreck.
“Hello, neighbors! Trouble to burn, h’ain’t ye? Anybody hurt?”
“Nothing serious,” said Dick’s uncle-by-marriage. “Luck was with us.”
“But ye can’t git nowhere without your wagon. Wait till I drive round by t’other bridge and I’ll give ye a lift to town,” and he turned his car and started back to make the detour.