Comrades of the Saddle

"We're later than usual, Tom," said the larger of the two boys. "I hope we'll get home before father does." "Then let's hurry. The last time we kept supper waiting he said we'd have to give up playing ball after school if we couldn't get home before meal time." "And that means that we won't make the team and will only get a chance to substitute," returned the first speaker. As though such a misfortune were too great to be borne, the two young ball players broke into a dog trot. The boys were brothers, Tom and Larry Alden. Larry, the larger, was sixteen and Tom was a year younger. Both were healthy and strong and would have been thought older, so large were they. The only children of Theodore Alden, a wealthy farmer who lived about three miles from Bramley, unlike many brothers, they were chums. They were prime favorites, and their popularity, together with their natural ability and cool-headedness at critical moments, made them leaders in all sports. As it grew darker and darker, the brothers quickened their pace. Talking was out of the question, so fast were they going. But as they rounded a turn in the road, which enabled them to see the lights in their home, a quarter of a mile away, Larry gasped: "There's no light in the dining-room yet. Father hasn't gotten home " "Come on then for a final spurt," returned Tom.