But when once more Frank’s closest friends ventured to plead with him for the three chums he got so angry that they decided it was no use.
Thus matters stood about a week before the second game with the military academy.
“Fellows, I’ve a feeling in my bones that something is going to happen,” remarked Bob one afternoon, as he tossed aside the book he had been trying to study, while Ned was plunking away at a banjo on which he announced he was going to become an expert player.
“What is going to happen?” asked Jerry. “Are you going to bang Ned over the head or put your foot through that perfectly rotten instrument he’s torturing?”
“I’d like to see him try it!” exclaimed Ned, but he took the precaution to retreat to his own room, for they were in Jerry’s, as usual.
“No, I rather like that music,” Bob said. “It is so soothing.”
“Soothing!” howled Jerry. “I’d rather live next to a boiler factory! But if it isn’t that, Bob, what is it? Tell us, Mr. Endman, what am gwine t’ happen?” and Jerry imitated a negro minstrel.
“Let’s have another feed happen,” suggested the stout lad. “It’s been a long while since we’ve done anything but play ball. Let’s have a spread.”
“And get caught again?” asked Ned. “Not for mine!”