The other laughed. “Oh, yes, you will. You’ll be hungry by the time you reach Toledo. If you’re not, you’re no real boy.” At the parlour car steps Mr. Graham shook hands warmly. “Good-bye, Faulkner,” he said. “We’ve had rather a jolly little party, haven’t we? I’ve enjoyed it, anyhow. Good luck to you, my boy. You’ll find an address in one of those books that usually gets me. Drop me a line some day and tell me how you’re getting on. Let me know who wins that game on Wednesday. I’d like to see that.” “I don’t suppose you ever get to Amesville?” asked Joe anxiously. “Amesville?” Mr. Graham smiled. “I get everywhere sooner or later, Faulkner. Whether I do or don’t, we’ll run across each other again some day. That’s my experience. It’s a wee bit of a world, after all, and a mighty nice thing about it is that friends are always meeting.” Joe had opened one of the books as soon as he had had his last glimpse of Mr. Graham on the station platform, and, in spite of the latter’s prediction, had not lunched at Toledo. Instead, he sat on a baggage truck and pursued the adventures of the hero of the tale with a breathless interest that almost lost him his train to Amesville! His first act when he got home was to seek Mr. Chase, the station agent. But that gentleman was not on duty and so Joe enclosed the borrowed money in an envelope, scribbled a note that recounted the success of his expedition and thanked Mr. Chase for his assistance, and left it at the office. It was a worried and anxious Aunt Sarah who met him at the door, and Joe’s first half-hour at home was devoted to a full and complete history of the past twenty-four hours, during which he was made to drink two cups of tea and eat three slices of currant cake. Then he called up the Strobes’ house, found that Jack had been asking for him and was at last able to see him, and forthwith hurried to the meeting. Jack was swathed in a dressing-robe and flanked by medicines and an atomiser when Joe found him, but he looked pretty healthy and declared that he felt fine today and was to go out tomorrow unless the pesky doctor changed his mind in the morning. “I was frightened to death I wouldn’t be able to play Wednesday,” he said; “but I can. Say, did Frank play Saturday?” “Yes, he did, Jack, for a couple of innings; no, three.” Jack groaned. “It’s all up, then! Bat will put him in Wednesday just out of kindness. Isn’t that rotten luck? Who invented quinsy, anyway?” “Edison, I suppose.” “Oh, it’s all well enough for you to grin, but I lose that wager and Handsome Frank will be more conceited than ever! And I won’t get that bat-case――――” “I’ll buy that for you if you’ll shut up about it,” declared Joe desperately. “I don’t want you to. I can buy it myself, for that matter. It――it’s beating Frank that matters.” “And only the other day you were saying that you were sorry for him!”