“I tell you I don’t take any stock in it!” exclaimed Bentley, rather pettishly. “We can’t hold an organization together long enough to carry out the scheme. Why, just see how this Don Scott affair has broken us up already. We don’t know where to get a good man to fill Scott’s place. Something else may come up later, and the eleven and the club may disband.”
“Dud-don’t be forever cuc-cuc-croaking, Bent!” exclaimed Chatterton. “You’re always expecting something bub-bad to happen.”
Ford, the deaf-mute, was the only member of the party who had not expressed an opinion of some sort. He sat there among them, looking on, his eyes bright and keen, apparently enjoying their society, if not their conversation.
Renwood flipped his jack-knife, causing it to strike, point first and stand up in the soft wood table.
“If other men of the place would take an interest,” he said, “I believe I could interest my father.”
“By George! that’s a handsome knife, old man!” Bentley observed, reaching over and taking it. “Pearl-handled and four-bladed. Got your initials on the handle, too. I’d like to have a knife like that. How much did it cost?”
“I don’t know. Father gave it to me.”
“Well, my old man wouldn’t think of giving me a knife like that. He thinks any kind of an old toad-sticker is good enough for a boy.”
Bentley seemed to regard the handsome knife with longing eyes, then he placed it on the table again beside Dolph.
“This Scott affair is unfortunate, to say the least,” admitted Sterndale; “but I have no idea that it will cause the breaking up of the eleven. He is only one man.”