It was about this time that Steven Carter, having dined at his new boarding house, was just setting out for his post-prandial visit to the corner telephone booth. A few feet from the Dillon door Speedy passed him, though neither appreciated at the time the parts they would play in each other's lives and did not even exchange glances.
Harold let himself into the Dillon front entrance, which was not locked, and walked into the living room.
"Hello, Jane. Hello, Pop," he sang out cheerfully.
"Oh, how did you make out at the office today, Harold?" asked Jane at once. She had been doing something for Pop's aching back.
"I got fired," Harold said flatly. He hung his head a little. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself, though only because of the obvious dismay of the Dillons.
"No-o!" said both Jane and her grandfather at the same time.
"Yep, I stopped to look at the scoreboard when I should have been delivering an important message for old Talbott."
"Dang you, boy, that baseball is ruining you," sputtered Pop Dillon irascibly.
"Harold, you shouldn't have done it. Your work should always come first," Jane reproved gently. "What are you going to do now?"
"Look for another job," replied Harold with confidence.
"And git fired from that one too, I suppose,"
