Football -- Juvenile fiction; Friendship -- Juvenile fiction
"Not a thing, Jack," he went on to admit, "though I was really out,
and walking up and down that path at peep of day. I couldn't tell you
how many times I went over the ground without finding anything. Why, I
even remembered which way the breeze was blowing yesterday, and spent
most of my time on that particular side of the path. Think of that,
will you, Jack; and yet for the life of me I can't positively
recollect whether I did drop that letter into the slot along with the
rest. I must be getting looney, that's what."
"Well, you've just got to brace up, Bob, and believe it's all right,"
Jack told him, slapping the other heartily on the shoulder, boy
fashion. "As time goes on you'll sort of get used to it; and then some
fine day your father will speak of having heard from his correspondent
abroad."
"Thank you for trying to bolster up my nerve, Jack It's mighty nice of
you in the bargain. I'll need your counsel more than a few times from
now on, and I'm right glad I can have some one to go to when I feel so
sick with the suspense, All the while I'm waiting and hoping I've got
to tremble every time my father speaks to me That's the result of
having a guilty conscience you know. I've read about such things
before, but this is the first time I've actually had the experience
myself."
"Besides," continued Jack, "even if you did mail the letter, that's no
assurance it would ever reach the party he wrote to. Many a vessel has
gone down before arriving at its destination, a victim to the terrible
policy of the Germans with their U-boats. And of course the mail sinks
when the boat goes down in the war zone. If your father were wise he
would duplicate that letter several times, and in that way make sure
one of them had a chance to reach the party abroad."
"Do you know I thought of that myself, Jack!" exclaimed Bob, quickly;
"but you see it would never do for me to mention it to him. Why, he'd
suspect something lay back of it at once, and ask me the question that
I shall be dreading to hear--'Did you positively mail that letter I
gave you?' Jack, sometimes I can see just those words in fiery letters
a foot high facing me, even when I close my eyes. It makes me think of
the handwriting on the wall that appeared before the eyes of that old
worthy, a victorious general, I believe it was, or an ancient king,
but which spelled his doom."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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