“Sure. See you this evening. I want to see Tommy. Where do you suppose I’ll find him?”
“Oh, come on down to the telegraph office.”
“Can’t; I want Tommy.”
“Well, try the Purple office; maybe he’s there. Don’t forget to come around to-night. I may get an answer from my mother by that time.”
Pete was successful. To be sure, Tommy wasn’t in the office of the Purple, but Pete hadn’t supposed he would be; Tommy wasn’t so easily caught. But by tracing him from one place to another, Pete at last came up with him in the library, where he was eagerly securing data for an article on rowing which he was preparing for a Boston Sunday paper.
“You see,” he explained, hurriedly, “I don’t know very much about rowing, but it wouldn’t do to say so, and so I come here and consult these gentlemen.” He indicated the half-dozen volumes by which he was surrounded. “If I only wrote what I knew, you see, I’d never make any money.”
“Well, that’s the first time I ever heard you acknowledge you didn’t know it all, from throwing to tying,” said Pete.
“Oh, a fellow has to keep up a front,” said Tommy, shrewdly, with a grin.
Pete slipped into the next chair, and for the next quarter of an hour they whispered fast and furiously. When Pete got up, he said: