"Say, I know what we'll do," broke in Herb excitedly. "How about taking all these poor lame ducks to Doctor Dale's house. He has a horn attachment—"
"And they could all hear the concert at once! Hooray!" cried Jimmy, momentarily forgetting his pain in excitement. "You've got a pretty good head piece after all, Bob."
"Yes, and a minute ago you were laughing at me," said Bob, aggrieved.
"Well, say," cried Joe, who was ever a boy of action, "what's the matter with our getting busy on this right away? Let's go and see Doctor Dale—"
"What's your big rush?" Jimmy protested feebly, appalled by the prospect of immediate action. "There's a lot of things we don't know about this business yet."
"Sure, sit down and talk it over," urged Herb placatingly. "No use gettin' all worked up over this thing, you know. Say," he added, with a sudden light in his, eye, "that reminds me of a joke I heard." But a roar of protest from the other boys drowned his voice.
"Gag him, some one, can't you?" Joe's voice was heard above the uproar. "The last joke he tried to work off on us was so old it had false teeth."
"Gee," cried Herb, finally released and disgruntled. "It's plain to be seen real humor is wasted on this gang."
The boys let it go at that and eagerly plunged into a discussion of the proposed concert.
"Who do we know that we can invite?" Joe asked practically. "The only 'shut in' I know is poor old Joel Banks. He's a fine old boy—went all through the Civil War with colors flying. He's awfully old now, and so crippled with rheumatism he can't leave the house."