“I suppose the boys like to wander down town and fill their eyes with the bright light of neon signs,” Johnny told himself gloomily, as having entered the big, front room of the place, he prodded the fire, thrust in three large logs, then seated himself for a short spell of gloomy meditation.
This meditation was broken in upon by Jensie who thrusting her head in at the open door said, “Johnny, do you think Ballard could have lit out for our native hills?”
“Don’t know,” was Johnny’s slow reply. “Guess not though. Probably just went for a long walk to wear off his grief at dropping that ball. Come on in and have a meat pie an’ a cup of coffee. It’s on the house.”
“Can’t, Johnny.”
“Why not?”
“Rules, Johnny.”
“Hang the rules!” Johnny exploded. “We made ’em. We can break ’em.”
“Besides,” his voice dropped to a disconsolate note, “I think the place is a flop.”
“No! It can’t be. It mustn’t be,” Jensie exclaimed.
“You can hang a hollow log up in a tree,” was Johnny’s strange reply, “but you can’t make a squirrel choose it for a nest. Anyway come on in. I’m sure the coffee is still hot.”