Chapter XXXIV.
Henry takes his Bearings.—A Stampede.
“I must have a copy of that letter;” Charles declared, emphatically.
“Yes; as a lesson in French, it’s worth from twenty to thirty of Mr. Meadows’,” Stephen chimed in.
He, however, had no great desire to obtain a copy and buzz over it. (Steve always buzzed when he “studied.”)
“I don’t doubt that Marmaduke will believe in it,” Henry said, with pardonable conceit in his own production; “but the question is, will he act on it? I know if I should come upon such a petition, I should let somebody else do the rescuing, and fly the other way as if I were pursued by—”
“A demon!” Steve interposed, grinning foolishly.
“No,” continued Henry, “by worse than a demon—by an algebra!”
Stephen hated the study of algebra—hated it with deadly hatred; hence he smiled in sympathy.
“Yes,” Charles commented, “most boys would be apt to run away; but Marmaduke isn’t like most boys.”