The minute Bunny looked at the man, he knew he was going to like him. He stood just beyond the dividing fence, his lean, brown face crinkling into an irresistible smile.
"Are those your cows, sir?" Bunny asked.
"I own them," the man admitted, "and I still own the sprouting corn in this field—thanks to you boys. I came up the road just in time to see what you did for me. But I am curious to learn how you happened to be passing, and why you stopped to save my crop from serious damage. Suppose we all adjourn to my house yonder, where we can talk things over. There is a crock of cold milk there, and a jar of cookies and doughnuts. If you will do me the honor—" He broke short the sentence with another of his big, fine smiles, and turned to lead the way. The Scouts fell in behind him.
Over the doughnuts and milk, Bunny fell ready victim to the stranger's warming personality; and somehow, without being able to tell exactly how the conversation started, he was revealing the troubles of the Black Eagle Patrol in getting to the baseball game at Belden, and explaining the mishaps it had encountered. Bonfire's previous assurance that there were no cars or horses on the place made it easier. The man couldn't possibly misunderstand.
Nor did he. He knew all about Boy Scouts and good turns without hope of reward, and he nodded and smiled and said, "Exactly!" when Specs remarked that they knew he hadn't any means of taking them to Belden.
"And I am afraid," the man added, "there isn't a thing on wheels or four legs in this country that hasn't trundled or trotted to the farmers' institute at Middletown this afternoon. That's where my own team went, and I do not own an automobile." He looked quizzically at the boys. "You are ready to admit, I suppose, that you have come to the point in your trip where, if it were a story, the author would write 'The End.' It isn't even 'To Be Continued.'"
"But it is, sir," Bunny denied sturdily. "We're going on to Belden. I know we can't make it afoot in time now; but even if we reach the ball park during the ninth inning, and even if we get there so tired we can hardly move, we're going to make it. We—we aren't quitters, I guess."
"Good!" said the man. "I like that spirit. It moves mountains and—hearts." He walked to the window and stared toward a distant field. "Then you boys could not help me on the farm this afternoon, I suppose?"
"No," Bunny confessed reluctantly, "I'm afraid not."
"I did not expect you could," the man said, with his understanding smile. "Anyhow, my machinery needs overhauling by some expert."