“You bet I am!” exclaimed Fudge. “I’m going to p-p-play end. I’m g-g-going——”
“So am I,” laughed Gordon. “Right now. Come along, Fudge, and we’ll hunt up Harry. I’m glad you’ll come in with us, Tom. By the way, I suppose we ought to have a sort of meeting to organize pretty soon. How would it do if you all came to my house to-morrow evening? We’ll have to choose a captain and—and talk things over.”
“Oh, you’ll be captain,” said Tom. “It’s your scheme. Besides, who else is there?”
“You, or Harry, or Will Scott, or——”
“Shucks, they’re not made for it. It’ll be either you or Lansing, I guess. Anyway, I’ll be over to-morrow, if you say so, about eight. So long. I’ve got to get these boards down before dinner.”
They found Harry Bryan in his father’s grocery. He, too, was very busy, but he stopped putting up orders long enough to hear Gordon’s tale, and was instantly enthusiastic.
“I’ll have to ask my dad, though,” he said doubtfully. “He’s keeping me pretty close to business,” he added importantly.
“What do you do, Harry?” asked Fudge. “Put the sand in the sugar?”
Harry treated the insult with silent contempt. “I’ll ask him to-night, though,” he continued, “and let you know.”
“Telephone me, will you? We’ll have practice late in the afternoon, Harry. You wouldn’t have to get away until after four.”