CHAPTER XXI.
BLIND LUCK.
It was about eleven o’clock, and one hour past their usual time for hunting their bunks, when Clancy and Ballard pushed away from their checkerboard.
“An even thing, Red,” said Ballard, with a good deal of satisfaction, “and that’s the way I like to quit.”
“You’ve kept me up for an hour longer than usual, Pink,” yawned Clancy, “just to saw off even. If I hadn’t given you the last three games, we wouldn’t have got to bed to-night.”
“I’ve got a picture of you giving anybody a game,” jeered Ballard. “You played for all there was in it, and I merely demonstrated the fact that I’m as good as you are.”
“Oh, well,” murmured the red-headed youth, “if it pleases you to think that, I’m agreeable. Wonder where Chip is?”
“In bed, of course, just where I’m going to be in a brace of shakes. Come on.”
They hustled upstairs, and Clancy stepped into the room jointly occupied by himself and Merry. A call from Clancy brought Ballard on the jump.
“What do you think?” asked Clancy. “Chip, isn’t here. Where the nation do you suppose he is?”