“Oh, there you are, Biffkins!” he cried. “Come here a minute, will you?”
“Oh, Dick, isn’t it a beautiful old place?” I asked, as I came panting up.
“Scrumptious!” he answered, and stood with his hands in his pockets looking all around.
I may say here that I have never been able to discover the derivation of this word; but it was Dick’s superlative, and I was satisfied.
“By the way,” he went on, after a moment, “where was it you were digging yesterday afternoon, Biffkins?”
“Over here by the wall,” I said, and led him to the rockery, and explained to him my method of procedure. He listened closely and seemingly with considerable interest.
“You’ve got a great head, Biffkins,” he said, approvingly, when I had finished. “I don’t believe that I should ever have figured all that out.”
“Of course it didn’t come to anything,” I said, apologetically.
“That’s got nothing to do with it. Besides, maybe you’ll have better luck next time. If at first you don’t succeed, you know.”
“What was it you and Tom were talking about in the library last night, Dick?” I asked, seeing his benevolent mood and judging it a favorable moment to return to the attack.