It was just three days afterwards when Jack saw his two chums again. On Sunday morning his father had occasion to start to a town about thirty miles distant, to see a sick aunt who depended on him for advice. She had sent word that he must fetch Jack along with him, Jack being the old lady’s special favorite and probably heir to her property.
Jack’s father was a lawyer, and often had trips to make in connection with real estate deals, and estates that were located in distant parts. Consequently, it was nothing unusual for him to receive a sudden call. Jack might have preferred staying in Chester, where things were commencing to grow pretty warm along the line of athletics, his favorite diversion. His parents, however, believed it would be unwise to offend the querulous old dame who was so crotchetty that she might take it into her head to change her will, and leave everything to some society for the amelioration of the condition of stray cats. It would be a great pity to have all that fine property go out of the Winters’ family, they figured; and perhaps they were wise in thinking that way; little Jack cared about it, not being of a worldly mind.
So when he sighted Toby and Steve on the afternoon of his return, he gave the pair a hail, and quickly joined them on the street.
“Glad you’ve got back home, Jack, sure I am,” said Toby, the first thing.
“Why,” added Steve, “we didn’t even get a chance to compare notes with you about that great game on Saturday, though Toby and myself have talked the subject threadbare by now.”
“And one thing we both agree about, Jack,” continued Toby, with a grin.
“What’s that?” demanded the other.
“Fred saved the day when he stopped that terrible line drive of O’Leary, and shot the ball home as straight as a die. No professional player could possibly have done it a shade better, I’m telling you.”
“It was a grand play,” admitted Jack, “and I told Fred so while we walked home together.”
Steve looked keenly at him when Jack said this.