They found Rupert and some of his friends trying on various sorts of costumes for the masked-ball of that night.
This was another of Merriwell’s “entertainments,” and it seemed that nearly everybody who had a right to go was going.
“You fellows make me sick!” said Pike.
“What troubles you now, Donald?” asked Chickering.
“Lotht on the watheth thith afternoon, I’ve no doubt!” lisped Veazie.
“A plague on the races!” Pike growled.
“Why do we fellows make you sick?” queried Julian Ives, looking at himself admiringly in the long mirror. Julian had arrayed himself in a glittering imitation of chain armor, and was going to the ball in the character of a Knight of the Round Table.
“For thinking of going to that ball.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mith it for anything!”
“You’re just like all the rest of the fools, Veazie!”