The two boys made a strange contrast as they flung themselves down in the shade of the tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having a little edge on his friend. But Bob could have passed for the other boy’s big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were broader, his complexion ruddier. He was the typical outdoor boy, with tousled brown hair, a few unruly freckles, and a broad pleasant face. Hal Gregg was short and slight, with sloping narrow shoulders. His complexion was dark, and his large, serious eyes were hidden behind shell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though they were such a badly matched team, the two boys were fast friends.
Their friendship had begun strangely. In the first place, they lived next door to each other, on a quiet, shady side-street in the large city of Crowley. Bob had lived there first, while the red brick house next to his had been empty for a long time. Nobody Bob’s age had ever lived in that house, and he had grown to look at it as an old fogey sort of a house, very dull, and fit only for grownups. It didn’t seem as though young people could ever live in it. So he’d been pretty much excited when he found out that the house had been sold, and that a boy his own age was going to move in.
But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointed one. “Oh, golly, just my luck,” he said to his mother. “Somebody my own age moves in next door at last, and look what he turns out to be.”
Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpse of Hal as he had got out of the automobile with his mother, and entered the house. “He seems to me to be a very nice boy,” she said quietly.
“Nice! That’s just the point. He looks as though he’s so nice he’ll be as dull as ditchwater. I’ll bet he’s the kind that can’t tell one airplane from another, and buys his radio sets all made up, with twenty tubes and all kinds of gadgets. Lot of fun I’ll have with him!”
Mrs. Martin smiled and said nothing. She was a wise mother. She knew that if she praised Hal too much he would seem just so much worse in her son’s eyes. So she resolved to let him decide for himself, just as she always let him decide, whether he wanted Hal for a friend or not.
For several days Bob saw nothing of Hal, but one day, as he rode his bicycle up the driveway that separated the two houses, he heard someone hail him. He looked over into the Gregg yard and saw Hal there, stretched out in a steamer chair, an open book in his lap. He looked very small and puny. Bob got down from his bike. He was embarrassed. Hal hailed him again. “Come on over,” he called.
Bob got down and walked over to where the other boy was sitting. The meeting between two strange boys is usually a hard one, with suspicion on both sides. But Hal seemed surprisingly pleasant. “I’ve seen you riding around,” he said, “but I haven’t had a chance to call you before. I’m Hal Gregg. You’re Bob, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” grinned Bob. He was beginning to think that this Hal might not be such a bad sort. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I’m a Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, I’ve heard your mother calling to you. And if she calls you ‘Bob,’ that must be your name.”