“The Springdale road’s pretty good,” suggested Gordon, with a wink at Fudge. “I thought I’d run out toward the Point,” said Dick carelessly. “You don’t meet many teams that way.” “By the way,” asked Gordon, “when do they move in?” “Who?” Dick inquired. “The Brents, of course.” Fudge giggled. Dick laughed. “Who said anything about the Brents, you idiot?” “No one; only you spoke of going to the Point. You can drop Fudge and me at the hotel. We don’t want to be in the way.” “Oh, you run along and play!” said Dick good-naturedly. “If you really want to know when they’re coming back to town, I’ll tell you. They’re going to move in next Wednesday. Morris says it’s too hard to get to school on time. And since football practice has begun——” Dick broke off to negotiate a corner. “Morris is crazy to think he can play this Fall,” said Fudge. “He will bust his leg again. You’ll see.” “He’s going to try, anyway,” said Gordon. “They’re going to mark out the gridiron this morning, Dick.” “That so? Oh, by the way, I heard from Harold. I’ve got his letter here somewhere. Steady the wheel a minute, Gordie, will you?” Dick drew forth an envelope from his pocket and handed it across. “Read it aloud.” “‘Dear Dick,’” read Gordon, “‘I passed all right. Only I have got to do some extra Math this term. I was sort of rotten on Math. Old Penny (he’s the principal) says I did better than lots of fellows who come here. Loring said I was to thank you, and I do awfully, Dick. You were fine and dandy to me, and I am sorry I was such a rotter at first. And I am very sorry about the Math. It wasn’t your fault, Dick. Please remember me to the fellows, and tell them I am coming back next year. I am going out for the junior baseball team next week and maybe next summer I can play for you, Dick, if you want me. Loring says remember him to you, and so no more at present from your firm friend, Harold.’” “‘Firm friend’ is pretty good,” commented Gordon, as he folded the letter up and returned it to its envelope. “But I’m glad the kid passed, if only on your account, Dick.” “Yes; if he had failed, I’d have felt sort of mean about taking the money. Speaking of money, fellows,” he continued, as the runabout slid across the trolley tracks and headed toward Rutter’s Point, “Mr. Potter sent me the statement this morning. I didn’t bring it, though.” “How did we come out?” asked Gordon. “About the way we figured?” “Nearly forty dollars better. There were six hundred and thirty-three paid admissions to the game, amounting to four hundred and three dollars. The total expenses were, I think, sixty-one dollars; or maybe they were sixty-three. Anyway, the net profits amount to three hundred and forty-two dollars. That includes four dollars and something made on the pennants sold.” “Peanuts?” exclaimed Fudge. “I didn’t know we——”