"We did begin it," observed Duncan, in a less violent tone.
"We didn't; he began it," returned Donald. "Didn't he butt in about the Moons' room?"
Owen turned away in annoyance. "Do as you please," he said, "but you're fools not to patch up with him some way."
Rob sat down at his desk, less disposed to find excuse for the Pecks than ever before. "It's that pig-headed Donald that causes the trouble," he was thinking. "Duncan would settle the thing right off, but he's scared of his brother;" and while his mind was rebelliously following the affairs of the Pecks, and refusing to apply itself on the composition, a knock was heard at the door, and the unfinished work was again shoved into a drawer out of sight.
"Hello, Ned!" cried Owen, looking up in surprise as Carle appeared. "Glad to see you," he added cordially; "sit down."
His first impression at sight of Carle's serious face was that the pitcher had reconsidered the interview of last week and come to make amends. Otherwise I am afraid his greeting would have been less cordial.
"Is your room-mate in?" Carle asked, looking toward the bedroom door.
"He's getting his Greek with a fellow downstairs. Do you want him?"
"No, I want you. Can you lend me twenty dollars?"