“Wouldn’t I have been kicking myself if I hadn’t!” observed Jim, as they rose from the table and repaired to their seats in the Pullman.
They were devoured with impatience as the time went by, far too slowly to suit them. But at last they found themselves drawing near to Riverside and began to get their suitcases out in the aisle ready for a quick exit.
“Just how are we going to stage this surprise party?” asked Jim. “All in a rush or on the installment plan?”
“Let’s tease the girls a bit,” suggested Joe. “One of us will go in first while the other hangs about in hiding. Then when they’ve decided that there’s only one of us, number two will come in and get his share of the fun. We’ll toss a coin to see who goes in first. How about it?”
Jim agreed, but did not think so well of it when Joe won the toss.
The choice had barely been made when the porter came in for their bags and said:
“Next stop Riverside.”
“All out for Riverside,” chuckled Joe, as with Jim close on his heels he jumped down on the station platform.
From previous experiences they knew that if they started to walk home they would be stopped every few feet by friends and admirers who by the time they reached the house would have formed something of a triumphal procession, for Joe was far and away the most important figure of the little town that his baseball prowess had “put on the map.”
So before they could be recognized by more than one or two, they jumped into a taxicab and were driven rapidly toward the Matson home.