“Yes, sir, we thought we ought to let folks know we were ready for business.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured Mr. Benton. “I—I suppose you’re quite interested in it, Tom.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy heartily, “I certainly am. Why, dad, we’re going to make just gobs of money as soon as we get going well!”
“Hm; glad to hear it, son. We may need money before long.”
“Need mon—Look here, sir, there is something wrong; I can see it by the way you look, dad. What is it, sir?”
“Wrong? Nonsense! That is—well, yes, Tom, I am troubled a little. It’s nothing important, though. It’ll work out, it’ll work out. Things always do, you know—somehow.” He paused and frowned for a moment at the lilac hedge that was fast losing its leaves. “Don’t you worry, son,” he added after a while.
“Is there—can I help any way, sir?” asked Tom sympathetically.
His father shook his head slowly. “I hope not, Tom. I mean—no, there isn’t anything you can do. Well, well! What time is it, I wonder. Must be most time for supper, eh?”
“Not for a half-hour, sir,” answered Tom troubledly. He had never seen his father look so tired and dejected before. At that moment Jerry Lippit and Teddy Thurston came in at the gate to tell Tom quite candidly what they thought of George Connors; and Jerry, especially, could be exceedingly candid when he set out to be. Only the presence of Tom’s father prevented Jerry from doing full justice to his subject. But neither visitor received much encouragement from Tom.
“Oh, Connors was right enough,” said Tom. “I did stay away from practice too much. I know that. I was so busy with the new truck and the garage and things that I just couldn’t get out. It’s all right. I wouldn’t want to play on the team anyhow with Connors feeling the way he does toward me. It would be too unpleasant. Besides, I guess you fellows will get on all right without me.”