Bowman’s Assist

BOWMAN'S ASSIST
By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Author of "The Crimson Sweater," "Crofton Chums," etc., etc.
When the knock on the door came, Ted was slumped on his spine in the Morris chair, the green-shaded lamp close to his elbow and a magazine propped on his chest. It was Saturday night and he was glad that there was no studying to do. The baseball game with Prospect Hill in the afternoon had been a hard one, and the victory—for Warwick had finally won in the tenth inning—had left him pegged out; for which reason he had passed up a lecture in the Auditorium in favor of rest and solitude in his own room. Which is why the knock on the door brought a sigh and a frown. He might, to be sure, remain silent, but the light through the transom would give him away, and in case the caller were Trevor Corwin with his everlasting stamp-album—well, Trev was a sensitive kid and easily hurt. So Ted laid down his magazine and said "Come in!" without much enthusiasm. To his relief, the visitor was not Trev, but Hal Saunders.
"Hello, Bowman!" greeted Hal, glancing about the study. "George around?" His eyes sought the bedroom as he closed the door behind him.
"Gone home over Sunday," replied Ted.
"Gone

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