Wendell felt so secure in his invisibility, that he made no attempt to restrain his laughter. He roared with mirth, and rocked, and slapped his knee, till he noticed that the passengers were all looking to see which one of them was responsible for this unseemly noise. This struck Wendell as funnier than ever. He laughed uncontrollably, but he didn’t forget again to keep an eye on the door; and whenever anyone got on after that, Wendell rose to his feet with a promptitude that would have earned him a medal as the most courteous boy in Greater Boston, if the Courtesy Contest Editor of the Post could have seen him.
As the car proceeded northward, the seats were filled more and more, till there was no room for Wendell to sit. Towards the end of his ride, it really was too crowded for comfort, for other standing passengers stood on his feet, and wedged him in to small spaces, and lurched against him with the motion of the car, and then apologized to somebody else, till he was very glad when they arrived at Park Street, and he could run for home. He went in with the cloak under his arm and hid it in his bureau drawer.
CHAPTER XII
BLIND MAN’S BUFF WITH THE GIANT
“Hello, old sport,” said the Pixie in an offhand way. “How are the fractions?”
“Oh, they’re all there,” returned Wendell, “but, I say, what do you mean by sneaking off and leaving me this afternoon? I’d like to know that.”
“I didn’t sneak,” said the Pixie indignantly. “I mentioned that I was going. I never sneak.”
“I’d like to know what you call it then. You didn’t wait for me, did you?”
“Oh!” said the Pixie. “Why, I’m awfully sorry, old chap. I thought you weren’t ready to come home when I left.”
“Why didn’t you wait till I was, then?”