“Not if the Towners succeed at what they’re up to,” replied Chester mysteriously.
“I don’t see what they could do that would affect the real game much,” said Sam. “Of course, they can rattle us and all that sort of thing, but we’ve been up against that before and beaten you.”
“Yes, but this is—is something different,” replied Chester darkly. “And I think it’s sort of a mean trick to play.”
Sam’s curiosity got the better of his scruples then.
“Well, I don’t see that you’re telling me very much,” he said. “All you are doing is taking me straight toward town at about a mile a minute; and me in my dirty old baseball togs. Turn the horse around, Chesty.”
Chester looked doubtfully at the road, which was fairly narrow here, and shook his head slowly.
“I don’t believe I’d better try that,” he answered. “She’s awfully hard to turn when she’s headed toward home and this road’s pretty narrow, Sammy. If we were in the cut-under it wouldn’t be so hard. I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go on to the stable and hitch up one of the other horses. I don’t believe I ought to drive Judy much more today. She’s pretty soft; hasn’t been used much since we got her.”
“I’ll be late for dinner,” Sam objected. “What time is it, anyway?” He looked at his watch and found that it was only a few minutes past twelve. “Well, all right, but hurry it up a bit. I’ve got to change before dinner, you know.”
“It won’t take more than five minutes to change nags,” replied Chester carelessly. “Here’s the trolley road,” he added, as they turned the corner, “and I hope we don’t meet a car because Judy hates them like poison.”
“What do you drive such a fool horse for?” asked Sam uneasily as he peered forward up the tree-lined avenue. “Think I want to have my neck broken?”