“Well, come over and see me sometime,” invited Tom, as he parted from Joe.
“I will. You come over and see me.”
The boys went their respective ways—Joe walking rather slowly and thinking of what had just taken place.
“How I would like to pitch—and go to boarding school!” he mused as he walked toward his house. As he entered the side door he saw his mother sitting at the dining room table. Something about her attracted his attention—aroused his fears. The cloth had been spread, and though it was supper time, for the game had lasted until late, there were no dishes on the table.
“Why mother!” exclaimed Joe, struck by a queer look on her face. “What is the matter? Has anything happened?”
“Oh Joe!” she exclaimed starting up, as though she had not heard him come in. “Oh, no, nothing is the matter,” she went on, and she tried to smile, but it was only an attempt. “I forgot it was so late. Your father was home, but he went out again.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. He said he had some business to attend to. But I must hurry with the supper. Where were you?”
“At the ball game. There was a fight. Our side lost. Oh, how I wish I had been pitching! If ever I go to that boarding school I’m going to try for the nine, first thing!”
“Oh yes, you’re always talking about a boarding school, Joe. Well, I—I hope you can go.”