“Goodness knows who it can be!” cried Mrs. Harrington. “To me they all seem a set of ruffians. Will you listen to that?”
Down the stairs came the sound of a freshman song, bellowed by at least a dozen persons, each one of whom seemed trying to roar forth the words louder than the rest.
“They’s a lot of them up there holding some kind of a jollification this minute,” said the widow. “It will be fortunate if they do not break down the doors and smash the windows before they finish.”
It was like a breath of his freshman days to Frank, and it gave him a feeling of pleasure.
“They seem to be lovely singers,” he said.
“I don’t call that singing!” sniffed the boarding-house keeper. “It’s howlin’. Did you ever hear anything like it in all your born days?”
“I think I have,” laughed Frank. “But I was speaking to you of a fine young gentleman who is stopping here, Mr. Jack Ready.”
“Him!” cried the widow. “Oh, he is the very worst! I never saw his match! He don’t do a thing but raise Cain all the time, and he’s the worst practical joker.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Frank. “Now, I had supposed that he was exceedingly quiet and refined.”
“Why, he plays his senseless jokes on me—me, Mr. Merriwell! He has done so repeatedly.”