“Now you’re picking on me!” laughed Bob. “Well, go as far as you like, I can stand it if you can.”
“Say, I’ll tell you what we might do,” cried Ned, as he and his chums got into their car for a spin out into the country, as it was a day or so yet before they would depart for Boxwood Hall.
“What?” asked Jerry.
“We might write to Professor Snodgrass, and ask him what sort of duds the fellows wear there. Then we’d know what to get and save doubling up.”
“Do you mean that?” asked Jerry, with a queer look at his chum.
“Of course I do. Why not?”
“You ought to know the professor by this time,” remarked the tall lad with a laugh. “He doesn’t know any more about clothes than a bat!”
“I should say not!” chimed in Bob, who was, as his friends said, “some nifty little dresser.” “The professor would get styles all mixed up with his bugs and butterflies,” went on the stout lad. “He’d tell us that the fellows were wearing sweaters with double-jointed legs, and trousers with stripes running around them like that queer beetle he got when we were down in Mexico. He’d have just about that much idea of what we wanted to know.”
“I guess you’re right,” assented Ned. “I didn’t think about that. We’ll just settle the clothes question when we get there.”
They motored along a pleasant country road, talking of many things, but chiefly of their coming stay at Boxwood Hall, and what they would do when they got there.