“I don’t know what it could do, it’s what it has done,” retorted Sid. “I know this road. It goes to Fayetmore, which is next door to Squankum Center. Fellows, we’re five miles from Dodville!”
“Get out!” cried Langridge, unwilling to believe it.
“Fact!” asserted Sid. “We’re five miles out of our way, on the wrong road, and the game starts in less than an hour. They’ll call it a forfeit on us and never stop twitting us about this.”
“Ah, you must be wrong,” declared Holly Cross. “Don’t you s’pose the motorman knows the way? It isn’t as if this was an auto.”
Sid pulled open the front door. The tramp, who had been talking to the motorman, had gone.
“I say,” began the first baseman, “is this the road to Dodville? Aren’t you on the wrong line?”
“Why, sir, I don’t rightly know,” replied the motorman somewhat timidly.
“You don’t know?” repeated Sid incredulously.
“No. I—I hope this is the right road.”