“To-day. I may as well say good-by.” Owen held out a hand which Duncan gripped.
“I don’t suppose you’ll ever be seen here again,” said the Peck, ruefully. “You’ll have to come with the freshman teams, though, won’t you?”
“If I can make any,” answered Owen, lightly.
“Make any!” Duncan sniffed. “If you call that modesty, I don’t. It’s pure affectation. You know you could make the Varsity nine, if they’d let freshmen play.”
“I shall come up anyway, whether I play with the freshmen or not,” pursued Owen, disregarding Duncan’s flattering comment. “I shall want to turn up here occasionally to see the old place and the profs and the people I know.”
“Gee! wouldn’t it be sport when you’re all through and aren’t afraid of anybody!” exclaimed Duncan, his tongue hurrying after his imagination. “I’d walk up to Doc Rounder and say, ‘How-de-do, Doctor Rounder! How’s that fine dog of yours?’ Doc would smile all over and begin to crack the mongrel up. Then I’d tell him that the pup looked pretty well for such an old dog, and ask if the police really did shoot at him for snapping at people. I’d see Hayes and thank him for all he taught me—he was always telling me that I was the only fellow he’d ever had whom he couldn’t teach anything to—and josh him about his chickens. I’d call on old Moore and get him going about the school spirit. I’d—”
“You’d better wait till you graduate before you plan to come back to show yourself off,” interrupted Owen, laughing.
“That’s a fact,” returned Duncan, suddenly reduced to humility. “Most likely I shall be doing the errand-boy stunt in my father’s office. Don’ll have to be the one to come back.”
“I’m never coming back,” said Don, decidedly. “I’m down on the place. They’re always looking for a chance to fire you, and they haven’t given Dun a fair show. When he’s a great man, I hope he’ll be elected trustee and cut down all their salaries.”
“That’s just what I’d do,” declared Duncan. “And what I took off from the salaries of the profs I don’t like I’d give to those who are on the square.”