Larry’s face turned scarlet. He felt like a fool, and wished he could make himself disappear.
But he couldn’t. He just had to stand there — as Greg was standing there — and be embarrassed.
The man looked a lot like Yancey Foote. Yet those glasses and that beard made him look different.
“Okay, now. Relax,” said the man. “I noticed you following me about two blocks away. Any reason why?”
The boys looked at each other. “How can I answer him?” Larry thought. “How can I tell him that I think he’s Yancey Foote if I’m not absolutely sure he is? He’d laugh at me.”
“We’re sorry,” Larry said. “We — we have no reason.”
The man smiled. “Can I buy you a Coke, or an ice-cream cone? After a tough game you must have worked yourself up for a treat.”
“No, thanks,” Larry said. “We’d better go home.”
“Okay. Take care now.”
“Yes, sir. And — so long, sir.”
Larry and Greg turned and left as if they were functioning on one brain.
“What a couple of stupes we are,” Larry said disgustedly. “We should’ve known — well, me, anyway — that he might have spotted us following him.”
“Well, we were real close to him before he turned the corner,” said Greg. “Is he who you thought he is?”
“I’m still not sure,” said Larry.
“Larry, you know what I think?” said Greg. “I think you’re just a little bit off your rocker.”
“Thanks,” replied Larry. “I was beginning to think that I’m way off my rocker.”
There was a strange car parked in the driveway in front of his father’s office when Larry got home, indicating that his father was busy with a client.
He walked into the house, expecting his mother to be in the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, or somewhere else in the house. She wasn’t.
He returned to the living room, took off his cleats, and slumped into an easy chair. He was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. He wished that he had accepted the man’s offer of a Coke or an ice-cream cone. As a matter of fact, he almost had; just having heard the man mention those tasty items had whetted his appetite.
Not until a sharp voice had brought him bolt upright did he realize that he had dozed off.
“Larry! Wake up!”
He opened his eyes, stared at his mother. “Wow!” he said. “I was really asleep, wasn’t I?”
“You sure were. And you should know better than to sit in that chair in that dirty uniform,” she admonished him. “Son, I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“You don’t have to do anything with me, Mom,” he said, getting off the chair and picking up his cleats. A lump rose in his throat as he started to go by her.
Suddenly she reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked at her, and saw a smile come over her face. Her eyes warmed.
“Hey, I’m sorry I yelled. You must have come home just after I left,” she said quietly. “I went over to Helen’s to borrow some coffee. I was only gone about ten minutes.’
“I guess I was tired,” he said.
“Okay. Get out of that messy uniform and wash up, while I get your supper ready. You must be starved.”
He smiled, realizing that he felt much less tired now.
Between that night and Saturday afternoon, he thought a great deal about the man who he was ninety-nine percent sure was Yancey Foote.
On Saturday afternoon he walked uptown, taking the same street he and Greg had taken on the day they had followed the man. He came to Berry Avenue, the street on which the man had surprised them, and debated whether to take it or not. He finally decided he would, and walked the length of the block, all the time realizing that it wasn’t necessarily on this block that the big guy lived. It could be on the next one, or some other block, for that matter.
After walking a couple of blocks Larry returned to the main street and continued uptown. He reached the heart of the village, turned left on State Street, walked a block, then headed back for home. He was disappointed; he had hoped to meet the man somewhere on the street.
Sure, he was expecting a lot. But a small miracle like that happened sometime, didn’t it?
It did happen a short while later.
He was passing by Harry’s Grocery Store when its door opened and a voice said, “Hi, Larry! How’re you doing?”
Larry stopped short. It was the man he was looking for!
“Why, hi, sir,” he said, staring surprisedly at him. “I — I’m fine.”
“Just a minute,” said the man. “I’ll pay for my groceries and be right out.”
How do you like that? It was a miracle!
A few moments later the man came back out, carrying a sack of groceries.
“How about some popcorn while we watch a football game on TV?” he asked, smiling broadly. “I just live around the corner.”
Larry’s mouth was ajar, but the words just wouldn’t come.
“I saw you walk by a little while ago,” the man continued, towering in front of Larry. “You were heading uptown.”
“I — I was looking for you,” Larry confessed.
The man grinned. “I sort of figured you were,” he said.
The door of the grocery store opened and Harry, the fat old man who owned the store, popped his head out. “Mr. Lacey,” he said, “you forgot your magazine.”
He brought it to the man, and Larry recognized it instantly. It was a copy of the same magazine he had purchased. The magazine with the article about Yancey Foote in it.
“Oh, thanks, Harry,” said Mr. Lacey. Mr. Lacey? Was that his name? “You’re a gentleman,” he added.
“You paid for it,” replied Harry. Smiling, he went back into the store.
Twin suns reflected on Mr. Lacey’s glasses. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll watch a football game and pop some corn. You can call your Mom or Dad from my apartment and tell them you’re there. Okay?”
“Okay,” Larry said, forgetting everything he had ever been told about being wary of strangers.
“Fine. Come on.”
They walked up the street, turned left at the corner, and turned in at the third house. They entered by the front door just as a plump, middle-aged woman came down a flight of stairs, carrying a vacuum cleaner and a feather duster.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Lacey,” she greeted him pleasantly. “I just cleaned your room. Not that it really needed it, but dust does have a habit of collecting, you know.”
Mr. Lacey smiled. “Yes, I know, Mrs. Franklin. Thank you. By the way, this young friend of mine is Larry Shope, star football player for the Digits.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Larry,” she said, extending a hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too,” replied Larry, taking her hand.
Then they climbed the stairs to the second floor where Mr. Lacey unlocked a door, went in, and put the sack of groceries on a table.
“The phone’s there by the sofa,” he said. “Why don’t you call your parents now?”
Larry did. He let the phone ring ten times, but no one answered.
“No one’s home,” he said, hanging up the phone.
“Well, try later on,” Mr. Lacey suggested. “Have a chair.”
Mr. Lacey went to a console television set and turned it on, while Larry sat down on a wide, yellow sofa, facing it. On the set was a silver cup, the size of a short drinking glass, with a football on it.
“Make yourself at home,” said Mr. Lacey. “I’ll get the corn popping.”
A football game was being televised, but what captured Larry’s interest was the football on the television set. There was something written on it in white ink.
As he began hearing and smelling the corn popping in the kitchen, he got up and went to the television set. Plain as could be the inscription on the football read:
Winning ball. Touchdown scored against Baltimore Colts by Yancey Foote.