“So we don’t get him?” asked the trainer.
Porter closed his eyes in a way he had and set his mouth. “We get him, all right,” he answered grimly. “We’ve simply got to have him. Someone’s got to go and read the riot act to those folks of his. They live in Mearsville. Who knows him? Do you, Pete?”
Pete shook his head. “Only to speak to. Billy Sawyer does, though. He went to prep with him.”
“Sawyer of the Second?” asked the coach. “He’ll do. You take Sawyer and Gus to-morrow and go out to Mearsville and see them, Pete. I’d go myself, but with all this mix-up on my hands I can’t miss practice. I’ll see Wynant and get him to let Sawyer off. You have a car, haven’t you?”
“Yes. How far is Mearsville, and where is it?”
“Oh, about a hundred miles; out beyond Worcester somewhere. Look it up on the map. It’s a small place, and you’ll have no trouble finding them, I guess. Come around to-night, the three of you, and we’ll dope out a line of talk. Don’t let Perrin hear about it, though. He might try to queer us. He’s a mule.”
We left the Square the next day right after lunch in Pete’s car. It had only one seat, and Billy Sawyer sat on the floor with his feet on the running-board and his knees hunched up under his chin. We made good time, for Pete’s boat is some goer, and we got to Mearsville about four o’clock. On the way we went over our argument. Porter had told us what we were to say and Billy was to do most of the talking. He was a peach at talking, Billy was. He’d been on three debating teams and knew all the tricks. Funny about him, too. You’d think with his gift for that sort of stuff that he’d have turned into a lawyer or a statesman or something, but he didn’t. Billy’s adding up figures in his father’s factory to-day. Just shows that you never can tell, doesn’t it?
It was a pretty country around Mearsville, and we made the trip on one of those peachy Indian summer days that sometimes happen along in October. We had a pretty good time, too. We almost ran through Mearsville without knowing it, because there wasn’t much in sight except a post-office and a store. We asked at the post-office where Mr. Perrin lived, and the postmaster came out and showed us how to go.
“Wonder,” said Billy, as we went on, “what sort his father is. If we knew that it might help us.”