“Gee, they’re a sore bunch,” he said. “We could get up a scrap without half trying.”
“Don’t see what they’ve got to be sore about,” observed Cal Grainger belligerently. “We haven’t daubed green paint all over their town!”
Willard held his watch to the light and inquired uneasily: “What time does that train go, fellows?”
“Quarter to six,” answered Martin. “What time is it?”
“Nearly half-past five,” replied Willard.
Bob whistled. “We’ll never make it,” he laughed. “When’s the next one? Anyone know?”
No one did. Cal remarked that even if the car came right then it wouldn’t get them to Darlington in time for the train that the others were taking.
“What do we care?” asked Bob. “We don’t _have_ to get back until ten if we don’t want to. Look here, let’s get some supper here and go home afterwards!”
“Might as well,” agreed Martin. “We couldn’t possibly get to school before seven. Got any money? I’m broke.”
“A couple of dollars,” answered Bob. “How about you, Cal?”
Cal confessed to being the Croesus of the party, having the magnificent sum of four dollars and some cents on his person, and, unlike some wealthy persons, he was quite willing to share his riches. So, all being agreed, they set forth for the center of town, following the car-track for guidance. The long-awaited car overtook them presently, but, although Bob was for taking it because of his suitcase, he was overruled, Cal relieving him of his burden. Half a mile from the school a quite pretentious restaurant rewarded their search and they trooped in and took possession of a table for four. Having ordered rather an elaborate repast, it was decided that Cal should go out and gather information regarding the train service, and Cal, hastily swallowing the rest of the slice of bread that he was engaged on, went. He returned five minutes later grinning broadly.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Bob. “Spill it, son. I know that grin of yours!”
“There was a train two minutes ago,” chuckled Cal, “and the next one doesn’t go until eight-thirty-three!”
“What do we care?” asked Bob. “That’ll get us home long before ten.”
“Sure, but what’ll we do for two hours in this benighted burg?” asked Martin.
“Maybe there’s a movie house. There’s bound to be,” said Bob.