“Perhaps it is, but if you were my father would you want people to say that I was being paid to play baseball for some college?” Mr. York’s gaze turned to the open door and a frown puckered his forehead. Several moments passed. Sam, with that little smile that seldom got farther than his eyes, watched and waited. Finally Mr. York turned his gaze back to the boy and an unwilling smile overspread his face, a smile that was more than half a scowl. “I’ll be blessed if I would, Craig!” he said. Another moment of silence went by. Then, “Just the same, old man, you took a mean advantage of me, then,” he objected ruefully. “You see, I haven’t a boy. Wish I had. If I had I’d be as cranky as an old hen about him. Well, that’s settled, Craig, and you win. I’m sorry----” He paused, pulled himself out of his chair, and frowned. “Hanged if I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I’m glad of it! Langham told me I’d fall down, and--and I guess, on the whole, I’m glad I did. Now let’s go to bed, eh?” CHAPTER XIX HOME AGAIN Sam’s knee was so much better the next morning that he announced his intention of joining the campers that afternoon. Mr. York pressed him to stay until next day, but, seeing that Sam really preferred to take his departure, studied the itinerary that Mr. Langham had left with Sam and helped him locate the expedition. “Take the two-fifty-two from here,” advised Mr. York, “and change at Wickston for Norrence. Let’s see what train you can get. Wickston--Wickston--south-bound--Here we are. Leave Wickston at four-twelve and arrive Norrence at five-thirty-six. That’s rather late, isn’t it? And after you get there you’ll have to find the camp.” “I guess it won’t take long,” said Sam. “This thing says, ‘Norrence, Lindenville road, east of village.’ That oughtn’t to be hard to find.” “No, if they camp where they say they will you can get them in half an hour, I dare say. Besides, it doesn’t get really dark until nearly seven. I’d like to have you stay longer, but if you insist on going, why, I’ll take you over for that two-fifty-two. I made a mistake in giving that knee of yours such a good rubbing last night, Craig.” “It certainly cured it, sir. It doesn’t hurt a mite to-day, unless I punch it.” And Sam pressed the knee experimentally, to Mr. York’s amusement. “You’re a regular boy, Craig,” he laughed. “I remember when I was a kid and had a toothache I’d put my finger in my mouth and bite down on it as hard as I could to see how badly it would hurt! Well, we’ve got four hours before lunch, and if you want to try out that leg of yours we’ll stroll around and see the place.” The morning passed quickly. The subject of college was not mentioned again until, at half-past two, they were speeding along the road to the station in the grey roadster. Then Mr. York said: “Craig, could you pass a college examination next fall if you had to?”