Tom was in town, buying a lot of indigestible, but toothsome, dainties, dear to the palates of himself and his chums, when most unexpectedly, he met Bruce Bennington coming out of a pawnshop.
“Why, Bennington!” exclaimed Tom. “Oh, how are you?” and he quickly tried to change his first astonished tone, which had said, as plainly as anything: “What are you doing in such a place?”
“Oh, hello, Fairfield,” greeted the Senior, after a first start of surprise. Then, in a cool voice, he added: “I suppose it looks rather odd, to see me coming out of this place, but the truth of the matter is——”
“Not at all!” interrupted Tom, determined to make amends for his seeming surprise. “I’ve done the same thing when I’m temporarily embarrassed. Besides, for all I know you may have been making a psychological study of the pawnbroker, eh?”
“Oh, of course,” laughed Bruce uneasily. “But say, youngster, you fellows are making names for yourselves. Jove! We Freshmen never went on a strike. You’ve got us beaten a mile, even if we did drive a cow up on Merry’s doorstep. But a strike! Never!”
“Maybe you hadn’t any need,” spoke Tom. “Was Skeel as bad in your time as he is now?”
“Worse, if anything. And he’s a——” Bruce hesitated. “Well, I’ll not say it,” he concluded. “What’s up, anyhow?”
“Oh, I’m going to give a little spread.”
“Oh, I say now! That’s adding insult to injury, as the Irishman said when the parrot called him names after biting him. You Freshies are laying it on rather thick.”