With this minor worry off his mind, Bunny faced the greater problem of getting to Belden in time for the ball game.
"It's a good nine miles yet," he told the others, "and we have less than two hours to make it. At the Scout pace, we might possibly cover the distance in time, but it would leave us all played out. I guess we'll have to turn in somewhere and—and find another Mr. Jenkins."
They were in the lowlands now. The road stretched ahead, as far as the eye could reach, between lush fields of corn and wheat and oats. Grimly, without talking, the boys plodded on, pressing ahead as steadily as if Belden were just around the next corner. But it wasn't, of course, and something had to be done to revive their drooping spirits. At the worst, a halt at some house would serve to break the monotony of the hike.
Bunny chose a prosperous looking place on the right. The house was big and freshly painted. The barns and granaries were in good repair. Up-to-date farm implements nearly filled the yard. Everywhere was an air of success.
A shaggy shepherd dog ran to meet them, barking uncertainly and wagging its tail, as if divided between a desire to be courteous and yet to serve its master at the same time. Bunny called to the animal, and it came close and sniffed at his legs, and was satisfied. He hoped its owner would prove as friendly.
But when he knocked at the door, there were no answering footsteps. He knocked again. A third time. Convinced at last that they were merely wasting precious time, he turned to the others with a little gesture of disappointment.
"There's nobody home," he said.
"I can tell you something else," added Bonfire. "The man who lives here doesn't own an automobile; there's no garage. And he has only two horse stalls in that big barn, both empty. Even if he wanted to help us get to Laurel, he couldn't."
Bunny nodded gloomily. "We might as well hike on."