“That’s kind.”
“I’d rather see you an officer than that Dan Baxter. Do you know, Jack, I don’t like that chap at all.”
“No more do I. He is very overbearing. I heard him bossing some of the little fellows around in regular slave-driver style.”
“Well, he shan’t boss me around.”
“Oh, it’s not likely he’ll bother the big boys,” came from Jack Ruddy, as he arose from his chair and stretched himself. “Those chaps usually make the little fellows toady to them. What time is it?”
“Just five o’clock.”
“Then come on down to the lake and have a row before supper.”
At that moment something soft, thrown up through the open dormitory window, struck Jack Ruddy on the shirt bosom. It was a lump of mud, and it left quite a mark behind.
“Hi, there, who threw that?” he cried, angrily, as he rushed for the window. He was just in time to see a lank youth diving out of sight behind some bushes.
“I know that lad,” came from Pepper Ditmore. “His name is John Fenwick, but they call him Mumps.”