“I wouldn’t like to do that,” said Cal. “If I write tonight I guess maybe I’d get the money by day after tomorrow; or next day, anyway.”
“Oh, there’s no use in waiting all that time. Besides, you need the things right away; you can’t play in ordinary clothes. You let me lend you two dollars and then you kite down town in the morning; I’ll go along if you like.”
“All right,” answered Cal reluctantly. “I’m much obliged to you. And I cal’late you’d better come along and show me where to go. I wouldn’t want to get into any high-price place.”
“All right,” laughed Ned, “I’ll look after you, old man. Here comes Spud and The Fungus. O you Spud! Want to play a set?”
“I’ve got you,” answered Spud. “Going in for your racket? Bring mine out, will you? It’s in the stair closet or back of the door or—somewhere around.”
“You don’t say?” inquired Ned sarcastically. “You’re sure it isn’t in the trunk-room or under the refrigerator or in my pocket? You’d better come in and look for it yourself.”
“No, honest, Ned, it’s right there somewhere. If you can’t find it, bring The Fungus’s.”
“You do and you’ll get licked,” said The Fungus grimly as he seated himself in the hammock. “Say, fellows, has anyone glanced over the apple crop this Fall?” Spud’s gaze followed the Fungus’s over the whitewashed picket fence that marked the boundary of school territory at the left of the cottage. There was a hedge of lilac bushes on the other side of the fence which hid the next door domain from the porch. But Cal knew what was beyond, for from the bay window of the Den he could look over the hedge and through the trees at the old-fashioned white farm-house with its green shutters and its columned porch.
“Who lives over there?” he asked.