“About fourteen million stories in pickle,” broke in Buster Beggs.
“Fourteen million!” snorted Luke Watson. “You had better say about fourteen! Shadow tells the same stories over and over again.”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story!” cried the youth mentioned, his face lighting up. “Once on a time there was a––”
“Oh, my, Shadow! are you going to start right away?” demanded Dave, with a broad grin on his face. “Can’t you give a fellow a chance to catch his breath? This is a great surprise––meeting you three on my way to the city. And to think we are going to be together in one of the parlor cars, too!”
“Oh, you can’t lose the Oak Hall boys!” cried Buster. “Say, let me tell you something,” he went on. “Luke has written a song about Oak Hall that is about the finest thing I ever heard.”
“It ought to be if it mentions us,” answered Dave, with a boldness that took away much of the conceit.
“Say, you haven’t let me tell that story!” interrupted Shadow, with a disconcerted look on his thin face. “Now, as I was saying, there was once a––”
“Not now, Shadow!”
“You can tell it on the way to New York!”