“Thank you, Miss Simmons.”
“And—and, Bob, please don’t tell anybody I took on so about those letters.”
“Oh, no, ma’am, I won’t,” promised Bob.
He went on his way, whistling. The man he had met at the Dunbar house had gotten out of sight by this time. Bob supposed he was some tramp passing through the village. He forgot all about him, and Miss Simmons, too, as he hurried towards the schoolhouse.
There was a fine meadow right near the school grounds. This had been chosen as a favorite spot for sport. The baseball and football teams of the town played there regularly. It was marked off for both games, and there were some benches at one corner of the field. At the other end there was a tennis court.
“Those letters have made me late,” said Bob to himself, as he passed the schoolhouse and saw the crowd of boys already gathered on the field.
Dave Duncan was just telling off the school teams for football. There was some squabbling, as usual, on the part of Jed Burr.
“I’m not going to play till my right tackle comes,” he declared.
“Oh, we can’t wait for that,” said Dave.