Baseball -- Juvenile fiction; High school students -- Juvenile fiction
“Hello? Yes.... No.... What say?...”
Gordon must have dozed then, for the next thing he knew someone was
pushing open his bedroom door cautiously and asking if he was awake.
“Yes, sir,” answered Gordon.
Mr. Merrick closed the door and came over to the bed. “Time you were
asleep, son,” he said concernedly. “Having trouble?”
“I—I’ve been asleep once, sir. Something wakened me.”
“Hm. Er—I was just talking to Mr. Brent on the telephone, Gordon.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hm. He told me about the accident, son.”
“Yes, sir. Did he say how Morris was?”
“Doing very well, he said. Why didn’t you—hm—why didn’t you tell me
about it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I was sort of tired, and——”
“Brent says you carried Morris almost half a mile to the trolley,
Gordon.”
“It wasn’t nearly that far. And I didn’t carry him. He was too heavy.
I—I pulled him.”
“Well, the doctor says it’s a lucky thing you got him home as quick as
you did. Mr. Brent is—hm—very grateful. He’s going to stop in the
morning and see you.”
“He needn’t be,” murmured Gordon. “It wasn’t anything.”
“Hm. You can tell me about it in the morning. I-hm—I’m sorry I was so
short with you, son. If you’d explained——”
“Yes, sir, I ought to have. It—it’s all right, dad.”
“Well, but—if you’re hungry, Gordon——”
“I’m not, sir. I—no, sir, I’m not.”
“If you are I guess you and I can forage around and find something. Sure
you wouldn’t like a little bite?”
“No, sir, thank you.”
“Well—hm——” Mr. Merrick laid a hand on Gordon’s arm and pressed it.
“Sorry I scolded, son. I—we—we’re proud of you, boy.”
Gordon didn’t answer. It was rather embarrassing and he was glad of the
darkness.
“Good-night, Gordon.”
“Good-night, sir.”
Mr. Merrick turned away, there was a sound of cracking and crunching
china and an exclamation.
“What’s this?” asked Mr. Merrick in surprise, peering down at the floor.
“It—it’s a plate, sir. Mother—that is——”
“Hm,” said Mr. Merrick, and then again “Hm!” He pushed the broken
fragments under the bed. “I—hm—I can understand that you aren’t very
hungry,” he said dryly. “Evidently your mother—hm—well, good-night,
Gordie.”
The door closed. Gordon smiled at the black and green foliage beyond the
window. It was all right about that lunch. If it wasn’t his father would
never have called him Gordie.
CHAPTER X
GORDON BEARS A MESSAGE
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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