Simmons obligingly retired to his bedroom, and Poole began:—
"I've just been talking with Mr. Lovering about Carle. He says the faculty are very much dissatisfied with him and he's very likely to lose his scholarship. I heard yesterday that he owed a lot of different fellows. What are we going to do about it?"
Owen shook his head. "I don't know. I can't do anything with him. His father wrote me last week, asking me to talk with Ned. I tried it, but it didn't amount to anything."
"But we must do something," persisted Poole. "A good pitcher is half the nine, and we haven't any one else within sight of him. I don't believe O'Connell will come to anything."
"But Patterson will," was on Owen's lips. He checked the words, however, before they were uttered, and said instead: "Carle was here just before you came in, trying to borrow some money. He said he must have twenty dollars before tomorrow morning. I couldn't lend him anything."
"Where did he go?"
"After some one who could get him the money."
"And he's on study hours. What a fool!" cried Poole, as he clapped on his hat and started for the door. "He acts as if he'd set his heart on getting fired. Good night!"
Owen echoed the salutation with emphasis, and got himself ready for bed. It was depressing to spend so much time on other people's affairs, and yet be of no apparent use. Then he bethought himself of Patterson, and felt better. There was one fellow who took his advice!