“He’s got a busted leg. Broken in two places. That’s all. He was unconscious when they brought him home, but he’s all right that way now. There isn’t much to tell. We were coming along that stretch where the white fence is and——”
Gordon went through with it again, Fudge interpolating details where Gordon failed to do full justice to the narrative. Afterward Gordon told about his visit to the automobile agent. “I don’t know what to do,” he ended. “I hate to tell Mr. Brent what that fellow said, Dick.”
“I don’t see why. It isn’t your fault. Besides, Mr. Brent is in the wrong, anyway. It’s Morris’ duty to pay what he owes. The dealer isn’t supposed to find out before he makes a sale whether the buyer’s relatives want him to own a car!”
“That’s all very well,” grumbled Gordon, “but he will be as mad as a March hare. I don’t see why he got me to do it for him, anyway.”
“Because you’ve made a hit with him,” laughed Dick. “I believe if you asked for it you could get a yearly pass over the trolley line. And speaking of trolleys reminds me that I’ve got to hustle over to the Point and get busy with young Mr. Townsend. What time is it?”
It was almost ten, and Dick seized his crutches and swung himself hurriedly into the house to reappear a minute later ready for the journey. Gordon and Fudge walked to the corner with him.
“How about another game with those fellows, Dick?” asked Gordon. “Are you going to see Billings to-day?”
“If you want me to. There’s time enough, though, I guess. We’ve got a game with Lesterville the day after to-morrow, as you perhaps recall.”
“I know, but I was thinking we might get the Pointers to come over and play us a week from Saturday. You might see what Billings thinks about it.”
“All right. If I can find him I’ll ask. By the way, he’ll have to find someone to take Morris’ place, won’t he? Guess, though, it won’t be hard to do. Here comes my car. See you later, fellows.”