That was the fly in the ointment. It seemed to take away much of the pleasure and confidence that otherwise Dick must have obtained from hearing his praises sung so confidently by the rest.
“Now you’ve heard my little farce,” he told them, “please don’t speak of it to me again. I want to forget all about it for a while. The committee will take a week to decide which one they like best. When we have our next meeting their decision is going to be announced to the crowd, and then the agony will be over.”
“Here’s wishing you every success going, Dick!” cried Peg, with vim.
They slapped Dick on the back, and soon had him laughing heartily; though when he found himself alone again he was bound to brood over the fact that Peg, who had heard a portion of Nat’s effusion, had simply said Dick’s was good.
“After all, this minstrel show is going to be only one thing Mr. Holwell has in mind for the boys of the Y. M. C. A.,” remarked Clint. “He’s planning a lot of other affairs for the late winter; and I heard him say that he hoped when vacation time came along we might camp out somewhere, and have a royal good time of it.”
“If we do,” ventured Andy, “I certainly hope he picks out Russabaga Lake for the trip. I’ve always wanted to camp on that wonderful Bass Island that we’ve heard so much about. If I get a chance I’m going to speak to Mr. Holwell about it.”
The boys sat around and talked for some little time, and then some of them having things they wanted to do started home. When Dick, being the last to leave, was going, Leslie smacked him on the back and said cheerily:
“Make no mistake, old fellow, that farce is going to come under the wire a winner!”
“Thank you, Leslie,” Dick replied, and somehow this unflinching confidence shown by his dearest and best chum helped to buoy up his spirits when doubts again assailed his heart.