Then, as the big man-made bird took to the air, he thought once more of his promise to the coach. “Told him I’d find him a real half-back,” he thought for the hundredth time. “Be strange if I found him right down here in the mountains. But then, of course I won’t. Oh well, I’ll have a day or two of fishing. After that I’ll go back on the hunt for a half-back. Pray for luck, that’s what I’ll do.”
CHAPTER III
WITH THE AID OF NICODEMUS
Anyone witnessing the return of little Bexter to his home that morning might well have supposed that he had made at least two non-stop flights round the world, instead of one short trip to Louisville.
“Oh! Bex! Y’er back!” his small brother exclaimed. “You bin way up in the air! You bin all the way to Louisville!”
“Yes, I reckon,” Bex’s eyes were on his mother. She said never a word. Her face was a mask. “All the same,” Ballard whispered, “she’s dabbing at her eyes when we don’t look.”
“It’s a great moment for Bex’s folks,” Johnny smiled a happy smile. “I’m glad we got him back safe. They’ll never forget.”
“Now you all just draw up chairs and take yourself some pancakes,” Bex’s mother invited.
“Sorgum!” Ballard whispered to Johnny. “Sorgum molasses on real buckwheat pancakes. Yum! Yum! You can’t beat ’em.”
Nor can you. Johnny Thompson and Donald Day found this out soon enough. This mountain cabin was small. The kitchen was the smallest of its three rooms, but shone upon by the good mountain woman’s gleaming face, and warmed by her glowing hospitality, it became for those four hungry boys the largest, most gorgeous room in all the world.
“Sorgum,” Ballard murmured blissfully a half hour later. “Sorgum molasses and buckwheat pancakes.”