"What for?" snapped Midkiff.
"You know well enough," was the cool response. "We need him."
"At Walcott?"
"What a remarkable guesser you are!"
"You'll never get him! He's one of these swell-heads who think they know all there is to know, anyhow—and what's the use of proving themselves either right or wrong by going to school any more?" Midkiff spoke bitterly. He could not like a fellow of Horace Pence's caliber—or thought he could not.
"He was like that," agreed Rex.
"I don't see much change in him since the first day we struck this island. Only he has to be half way decent now, because you let him and his crowd stop here. Now you'd sacrifice the rowing in an attempt to win him over for a pitcher for Walcott Hall. Nothing to it, Rex."
"There you go, Jawn," sighed Kingdon. "You've got the habit, too. Yansey's influence on this bunch is something awful. You're all talking just as he does."
"Quit fooling," grunted Midkiff. "What are we laying ourselves out on this rowing business for if nothing's to come of it?"
"Getting good practice, aren't we?" asked Rex. "Only I never did go into a game before without having a feeling of expectation."