He went on his way, whistling. The man he had met at the Dunbar house had gotten out of sight by this time. Bob supposed he was some tramp passing through the village. He forgot all about him, and Miss Simmons, too, as he hurried towards the schoolhouse.
There was a fine meadow right near the school grounds. This had been chosen as a favorite spot for sport. The baseball and football teams of the town played there regularly. It was marked off for both games, and there were some benches at one corner of the field. At the other end there was a tennis court.
"Those letters have made me late," said Bob to himself, as he passed the schoolhouse and saw the crowd of boys already gathered on the field.
Dave Duncan was just telling off the school teams for football. There was some squabbling, as usual, on the part of Jed Burr.
"I'm not going to play till my right tackle comes," he declared.
"Oh, we can't wait for that," said Dave.
"You've got to. You ain't running my crowd."
"I don't want to," said Dave, "but if you make me the manager I've got to have some say, haven't I? We'll only practise this afternoon, and get in trim for the real game Saturday."
"All right," grumbled Jed.
There was a merry boyish scramble as the game began. Not much attention was paid to the rules, and that made it better than ever. Bob was quick and active.
The boys had been playing for about twenty minutes, when a kick past goal meant three hand-running for his side. He had got the football, and was in position for a splendid play, when he saw Jed making for him to spoil it.
