“There he is!” cried Dick, after quite a long walk, and he pointed to Dudd Flockley, seated on a rustic bench, smoking a cigarette. The student was alone, and looked to be in a thoughtful mood.
“Flockley, I want to settle with you for that hat,” said Tom, as he came up. “And let me tell you honestly that I am sorry I mashed it.”
“I think you did it on purpose,” grumbled the dudish student. “You Rovers think you can do just as you please at Brill. I suppose you’ll feel more important than ever—after that affair of the burning steamer,” he added, bitterly.
“Dudd, let Tom pay you for the hat and then let me talk to you,” said Dick, quietly. “How much did it cost?”
“Five dollars.”
“Here you are then,” came from Tom, and he passed over a five-dollar bill. “I didn’t mash it on purpose, no matter what you think.”
“All right—have your own way about it, Rover,” and Dudd pocketed the bill carelessly.
“Dudd, you met Koswell and Larkspur the other day,” went on Dick, sitting down on the rustic bench.
“Did Minnie Sanderson tell you that?”
“She told Songbird Powell and he told us.”