“What makes you think that?” asked Fred pessimistically.
“I said it was a hunch, didn’t I?” demanded Bobby. “You don’t have to explain a hunch. You just have it and that’s all there is to it.”
“I hate to think of buckling down to work again,” said Fred. “We had such a bully free time up in the woods that I wish it would last forever.”
“That’s all the more reason you ought to be willing to work when the time comes,” remonstrated Bobby. “Think of the poor fellows that never have any outings and have to work hard all the time.”
“I suppose you’re right,” conceded Fred. “I don’t know just what it is that makes me feel that way. It wasn’t so when I got up this morning. I’ll tell you just what I think it is,” he said, as a sudden explanation of his mood suggested itself to him. “I’ll bet it’s that Tom Hicksley. I wanted to get a crack at him this morning when Mr. Carrier came along and stopped us. I’d have felt better if I’d lit out at him.”
“Now, Fred, cut out that fighting talk,” said Bobby impatiently. “There’s nothing in it. What’s the use of getting into a row that will make your folks feel bad when they hear of it and perhaps bring you up before the doctor?”
“I notice that you’re ready enough to fight sometimes,” grumbled Fred in self-defense. “You’d have pitched into Ap Plunkit if he’d hit you with that whip yesterday morning, and you were all worked up on the train at Hicksley.”
“That’s a very different thing from looking for trouble,” said Bobby stoutly. “It’s all right to take your own part when people try to bully or strike you. But it’s always best to keep out of a fight unless you’re forced into it. There wasn’t really any reason to fight Tom Hicksley this morning, and you know it.”
“Perhaps if you had hair as red as mine you wouldn’t find it so easy to keep your temper,” said Fred, falling back on an excuse he was fond of using.
“Maybe not,” laughed Bobby, “but you can make a try at it anyhow.”