“Bet you they don’t know they have to pay a quarter,” responded the other pessimistically.
“Then they’re blind, because there’s a notice right beside the gate there.”
“Someone ought to find Tim and get him here,” said Fudge anxiously. “They might change their minds and go away again!”
“What time is he supposed to get here?”
“I don’t know. Half-past, I suppose.” They passed through a smaller gate which led to the dressing-room and found Dick and Gordon already on hand. Fudge told his fears to Dick, and Dick reassured him by agreeing to take the gate himself until young Mr. Turner appeared. Five minutes later the first two or three rows of the grandstand were occupied, and spectators were still dribbling through the gate and depositing quarters in Dick’s hand. Tim Turner arrived breathless soon after and relieved Dick. Some thirty Rutter’s Point residents accompanied their team and still further swelled the audience, and by three o’clock Dick estimated that fully a hundred and sixty persons had paid admission. That was much better than anyone had dared hope, and Lanny, making a lightning calculation, confided to Gordon that there’d be thirty dollars coming to the club after Rutter’s Point had received the twenty-five per cent. agreed on.
“If we can do that often enough,” said Lanny delightedly, “we’ll have more than enough for——”
“S-sh!” cautioned Gordon.
“He’s over there talking to Billings. Who is the kid with him?”
“That’s young Townsend, the fellow he’s coaching. It’s about time to start, isn’t it? There come three more, Lanny.”
“Every little quarter helps,” replied Lanny. “I hope Tim Turner doesn’t abscond with the cash! Someone ought to stand over him with a bat! Oh, Fudge!”