“Count me in, old boy.”
“I’ll go with George,” said Bob Somers.
“Think I’ll go that way, too,” put in Dave.
“So shall I,” added Tom.
Aleck and Fred studied the situation a moment and also decided to cast their lot with George.
“All right,” laughed Jack. “Have your own way. We’ll meet you here, after a bit. Come on, Joe.” And the boys separated.
The road was wide and lined here and there with trees and fences. Broad fields extended off toward the low-lying hills, now purple against the sunset sky. It was a pleasant pastoral scene, with farmhouses and growing crops and patches of trees.
The two wandered along until the glow had faded from the clouds and a grayness was beginning to steal over the landscape.
“Better be skipping back now, Joe,” remarked Jack. “It’s getting kind o’ late; and you’ve got that history to write.”
“And you could begin makin’ some pictures for it,” gurgled Joe.