He started out right after breakfast, and, as usual, headed for
the Foger home. He almost disliked to ask Mrs. Foger if her son
had yet returned, for Andy's mother was so polite and so anxious
to know whether any danger threatened that Tom hardly knew how to
answer her. But he was saved that embarrassment on this occasion,
for as he was going up the walk from the lake to the residence he
met the gardener and from him learned that Andy had not yet come
back.
"But his mother had a message from him, I did hear," went on the
man. "He's on his way. It seems he had some trouble."
"Trouble. What kind of trouble?" asked Tom.
"I don't rightly know, sir, but," and here the gardener winked his
eye, "Master Andy isn't particular what kind of trouble he gets
into."
"That's right," agreed our hero, and as he went down again to
where he had left his boat he thought: "Nor what kind of trouble
he gets other people into. I wish I had hold of him for about
five minutes!"
The sailboat swung slowly from the dock and heeled over to the
gentle breeze. Hardly knowing what to do, Tom headed for the
middle of the lake. He was discouraged and tired of making plans
only to have them fail.
As he looked across the stretch of water he saw a boat coming
toward him.
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