"He's right," drawled Horace. "I guess I won't smoke now." But his real reason for not smoking was that he had discovered he was not wearing his own coat.
The sun was getting low when Kingdon called it a day's work. Horace and his party scrambled to their feet, too, when the Walcott Hall boys collected their possessions and prepared to go down to their camp. Horace tossed the borrowed jacket to Kingdon, saying:
"Much obliged."
"Same to you," Kingdon returned, "for the use of your lay-out here."
"You're welcome whenever we're not playing," Horace said lazily and walked off with his crowd.
"What d'ye think of that bunch?" Cloudman said as the Walcott Hall boys approached camp.
"That Horrors has some speed," little Hicks stated wisely.
"He's an ugly brute," was Red's opinion.
"So are you," laughed Kingdon. "There are no medals on you, Bricktop, for politeness. And as for Mid—he's got a grouch that won't rub off."
"Well," said Midkiff, decidedly, "I don't like one little thing about that gang."