“It jarred some of the nonsense out of him, perhaps,” said Gordon. “Although, for that matter, Dick, maybe you like him better for other reasons.”
“Humph!” said Dick, with a suspicious sidelong glance. Fudge chuckled.
“Even you and Morris’ father seem to be getting quite chummy,” pursued Gordon, “while as for Mrs. Brent, why, she’s absolutely spoony about you!”
“Go ahead and enjoy yourself,” said Dick. “I don’t mind your ravings. Looks as though they were getting ready to close the hotel, doesn’t it?” he added, as they took the corner cautiously and turned into the shore road.
“I should think they would. About everyone has gone. Did I tell you what Caspar Billings said at the station the other day?”
“I don’t think so. What was it?”
“He said he was going to send circulars of the hotel to all the prep schools next Spring, so he could get up a nine that would beat us next summer and get that pennant back!”
“L-l-let him!” sputtered Fudge. “We’ll be ready for them!”
“Yes, indeed, for we’ll have Mr. Harold Townsend playing for us,” said Gordon. “By the way, Dick, we’d better put him in center field, don’t you think?”
“Certainly.”