“We’re going over to get a rise out of John Drown,” replied Wolcott, innocently.
“Who are they?”
“Oh, Whitely and Reeves, and Marchmont, I think, is with them. Want to come along?”
Laughlin laid his hand on Wolcott’s arm. “Wolcott, don’t do it. You’ll get into trouble or do something you’ll be everlastingly ashamed of when you wake up to-morrow. They aren’t out to-night on any good errand. Don’t go with them!”
“Nonsense!” cried Wolcott. “I shan’t do anything out of the way. It’s just a little fun.”
“I know better about that than you do. It’s something wrong, or they wouldn’t be in it. Let it alone and come back with me.”
“Come on, if you’re coming,” called Whitely. “We can’t stay here all night.”
“It’s all right,” insisted Wolcott, dropping his arm to free himself from Laughlin’s grasp. The strong fist merely clutched the tighter.
“It isn’t all right. You’re going back on your word. You promised to try your hardest to make the eleven, and now you’re doing something that may prevent your making it at all, whether you play well or not.”
“I don’t see that,” said Lindsay.