This year the rivalry was keener than before, and should the Boys’ Club clinch this contest it meant winning the pennant for the season. Hence the interest.
“Root hard, fellows!” begged Bob as he started his machine off again, while his chums hastened to get the seats reserved for club members. “I’ll get back in time for the last inning if I can!”
“Atta boy!” called Ned.
It was with rather a disappointed air that Bob continued on to the railroad station. But, after all, he knew he must do his duty, and helping his uncle, who was bringing him up, was part of this.
The 2:30 train pulled in a little late, and Bob, who had been told what Mr. Sheldon looked like, so he would know him, caught sight of this individual out on the platform of one of the cars, while the train was yet moving. Mr. Dexter had arranged for the transfer of the papers, and to make sure that Mr. Sheldon would know Bob, the latter carried in his hand a red dahlia from his aunt’s garden.
“You’re Bob Dexter, aren’t you?” cried Mr. Sheldon as he held a bundle of legal-looking documents to the lad. “Yes, I see you have the red flower. It’s all right, tell your uncle, but the papers must be signed before two witnesses before three o’clock. I’ll look after the other matters for him. Glad the train wasn’t any later and I’m glad you are here on time. I was getting a bit worried. If things had gone wrong it would mean a big loss. Don’t lose any time getting those papers back to your uncle now. Good-by!”
“Good-by,” was all Bob had time to say, and then the train pulled out again, for it seldom stopped long at Cliffside. Mr. Sheldon went back to his seat in his car, waving his hand to Bob. The latter looked at the bundle of papers, though they told him nothing of the business they represented. However, Bob did not think much about that. His affair was to get the documents to his uncle as soon as he could. And it was now twenty minutes to three by the depot clock.
“Hope the old flivver doesn’t go back on me!” mused Bob as he climbed to his seat. He was glad to find that the motor turned over at the first touch on the self-starter pedal, and he was about to let in the clutch and dart away when he was hailed by a voice calling:
“I say there young feller, can you give me a lift?”
He turned to see, beckoning to him, an old man—a grizzled old man with a short, stubby beard. Under his arm the man, whose clothing was not of the best nor most up to date, carried a small brass-bound box—a box such as might contain papers or other things of value. And yet the appearance of the man did not indicate that he was in the habit of carrying things of value.