“Aisy, me boy!” cried Paddy. “Don’t choke yersilf. Wait till your tongue has more room. Gray, did you say? I know a youngster by that name in the lower middle. He played ball on the junior nine last year when they beat us by one run in twelve innings.”
“That’s the fellow. Where does he room?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll soon tell you.” Paddy found a school catalogue and turned the leaves. “Here we are: Gray, Carl Ellis, Buffalo, N. Y., W. H. Vance’s.”
“Whereabouts is Vance’s?” asked Wayne, as he scraped the bottom of the can.
“Just around the corner from the post office; a big, square, white house with green blinds and a cat-colored roof.”
“A what?”
“Cat-colored roof—kind of a Maltese color, you know.”
“Well, I’m off. Thanks for the stuff! Tell Dave——”
“Hold on and I’ll go with you. What’s up?”
“No, you won’t; I’m going alone. I’ll tell you about it later—perhaps.”