“Got a couple of minutes to spare, Dick?” he asked, in a low tone.
“Sure thing,” Merriwell returned quickly. “Sit down and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Hollister dropped back onto his chair, and Dick followed the others to the door. With a chorus of good nights, they trooped out in a body and clattered downstairs. Then Merriwell came back into the room and resumed his seat, while Buckhart made tracks for the bedroom.
“You gents will have to excuse me,” he mumbled. “Can’t keep my blinkers propped open another minute. Good night.”
Without waiting for their response, he disappeared, and the next moment the sound of shoes being thrown to the floor was heard, followed with amazing swiftness by the creak of springs as the Texan crawled into bed.
“Gee! I wish I could do that,” Hollister murmured.
Dick raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
“Go to sleep the minute I hit the pillow,” Hollister explained. “I toss around for an hour or more, thinking about all kinds of things. Seems as if I could think better at night when everything’s quiet and there’s no one to disturb me.”
“Football, I suppose?” Dick questioned, looking at him thoughtfully.
Hollister nodded.