“And I do, sir. You mark my words—now Pete’s back there’s going to be games.”
But the days glided by; and Tom had so much to think of that he saw nothing of Pete Warboys’ games, and he could hardly believe it possible when summer came again.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
“From your cousin,” said Uncle Richard, opening one of his letters, his face gradually growing very stern and troubled as he read; while as he finished and raised his eyes, he found that Tom was watching him intently.
“Sad news, Tom,” said his uncle, in a low, grave voice. “My brother has been better, but he has during the past week had a fresh attack, and is very bad.”
“I am very sorry, uncle,” said Tom frankly.
“Yes, you would be, Tom, as it is serious.”
Uncle Richard paused, looking very hard at his nephew. Then quietly—