Bingham faithfully followed instructions. The freshman tried to kick out the door.
“My, my!” said Ready, holding onto him with some difficulty. “What a naughty little boy he is!”
“If I keep this up, I’ll have blisters on my hand,” said Bingham.
“He is resting easier now,” said Jack. “I fancy your application has done him good, Doctor Bing.”
“Oh, I’ll get even with you fellows!” vowed the freshman. “See if I don’t!”
“That’s all right,” growled the big sophomore. “Your word will be no good against ours, and we do not remember having seen you this day.”
“What are you going to do with me?” asked the freshman, with greater meekness.
“Why, you are enjoying a date with your own Lotta, who has fallen into lots of mazuma through the death of her Aunt Kit,” said Ready. “How gladly you rushed with fluttering heart to meet her! Your poetic soul swelled with rapture, didn’t it, Rolfie? But you jumped into this cab in such a rude, rude manner! It was perfectly shocking. I don’t think you are a real gent. You should have stood outside, and smiled sweetly on your Lotta, instead of diving headlong at her, and trying to butt her in the solar-plexus with your wooden caput. In the high society where she was a gay butterfly before seeking a career on the stoige, the young gents did not behave thusly. Oh, nit, nit! They were perfect gents—they were!”
“You make me sick!” gurgled Boltwood.
“How rude!” sobbed Jack. “Bing, do you fancy another application of the palm will teach him better manners?”