“Guessed it right,” Jim responded.
“If I didn’t hate to root against Boston, I’d almost wish you’d win, after all you’ve done for me,” Louis Anderson smiled feebly.
“We’re going to try mighty hard,” Joe assured him.
“They say that fellow Matson of yours is the king of them all,” the old man went on.
“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Joe gravely. “I’ve known him to pitch some rotten ball.”
They shook hands and went away, promising to keep in touch with him and do all they could to find the reckless automobilists who had caused his injuries.
But although they gave the facts to the village authorities and had a notice sent out to other towns in the car’s path, they had little hope that anything would come of it.
“I guess they’ve made a clean getaway of it,” judged Jim, as they once more headed toward the city.
“It’s a burning shame,” commented Mabel. “He seems to be such a nice old man, too. The idea of those men not even stopping to see what they could do for him.”