"Four dollars; the nine-fifty," he contemplated out loud, unmindful of my precious minutes.
The frown between his eyes looked dreadfully unfavourable to me. I stepped toward him, and looking up to him on the step above I said, "Dr. Maynard, I copied all those letters of your mother's, and it seems as if I almost knew her now. I just know she would think my cause was worthy."
Dr. Maynard simply adored his mother, and I suppose it was the sudden thought of her that brought a kind of mist into his eyes. He stepped down beside me, took out his leather bill-book, and passed me two ten-dollar bills. "Then, Bobbie, here it is!" he said gravely.
I thanked him quietly, opened my bag, and put them away.
I have always thought Dr. Maynard was a mind-reader. His next speech simply staggered me.
"I should go to the train immediately," he said; "the nine-fifty will be crowded this morning, with people going to the game. And by the way, if by any chance, you have a notion of passing through any college town on the day of a big football game, you'll find it very confusing. Why not let me go with you? I'll ask no questions. Or will the twins meet you?"
"How did you know? How did you guess?" was on the tip of my tongue; but I replied instead, "Oh, thank you. I must go alone. I shall be back by dark—and—and some one will meet me," I stammered.
All the way to the station I kept thinking, "Why couldn't Alec have believed me worthy of good motives too? Why couldn't Alec have surmised and understood? Why couldn't it have been my brother who trusted and had faith?"
Before I bought my ticket I sent a telegram to Oliver, so he wouldn't be passing away with anxiety. "Coming to-day. Bobbie" I said, and five minutes later sank into a seat in the train with a sigh of relief.
It was nearly twelve o'clock when the last friendly, blue-coated policeman left me with a pleasant nod near the end of my destination. I didn't have a bit of difficulty changing trains, crossing Boston and weaving my way in and out and up and down a labyrinth of subway passages and various street-car lines. Everybody was awfully helpful and as long as I have a tongue I could travel around the world, I believe, without the least bit of trouble. It wasn't until I neared the end of my journey that I felt any nervousness at all. Oliver roomed at number 204 Grey Street and as I reached the nineties my uneasiness became quite apparent. I could feel it in my chest, as if I were hungry. I did hope Oliver would be in. I did hope I was doing the right thing. Probably my growing excitement was a little due to the gala spirit of the football day. It pervaded everything. It thrilled me. Crowds of people with steamer-rugs and overcoats over their arms had thronged the trains and street-cars all along my route—a good-natured crowd, prosperous-looking young men and stunning girls wearing great bunches of flowers and carrying flags. Everybody was excited, even down to the small boys selling programmes and banners in the square I had just left; everybody glowed with enthusiasm and with the foretaste of a triumph. I had never been to a football game in my life, and I had always wanted to. Perhaps Oliver would take me; perhaps we would have lunch together somewhere! I should adore to see the college buildings! Possibly—oh, possibly, he would introduce me to some of his friends!! The thought of the thrilling things that might be in store for me made me swallow to keep myself calm. As I hurried along Grey Street I was so excited that I somehow wished that the wonderful time was all over, and that I was speeding safely and victoriously home again, wearing a faded bunch of chrysanthemums that Oliver would buy for me, and hoarding in my memory the brand-new acquisition of a real College Football Game.