"Yes. Climb in."
Fudge, attired in football togs, seated himself with a grunt beside the other, slammed the door and beamed about him. Fudge had very blue and very round eyes, so round that he constantly wore an expression of pleasant and somewhat excited surprise. He also had a good deal of sandy-red hair. He was ambitious to make the High School Football Team, was Fudge, and since Spring had refused all entreaties to have his hair cut. Viewing that mop of hair one would have doubted the necessity of the head-guard which he dangled in one hand.
Dick started up again and traveled cautiously yet briskly through B Street, but not until he had everything adjusted to his liking and one hand on the bulb of the horn did he indulge in conversation, although Fudge, unperplexed by problems of gears and levers, chattered busily.
"Gordon promised to stop for me," he confided, "but he didn't, and I didn't know it was so late. I was writing."
Fudge paused as though inviting curiosity. Eli said "Honk! Honk!" hoarsely before he chugged across Main Street, and Dick asked, "Another story, Fudge?"
