“That’s where you’re away off, Jonsey,” Lanky declared. “It’s a matter of mighty small difference to me whether Dora Baxter chooses to keep company with Walter Ackerman or not, because we’ve had a spat, and don’t speak when we pass by. And I want to ask you all right now, please keep her name out of any conversation you may happen to have about me after this.”
When Lanky spoke in that way they knew he meant it, and there was not one in all that group of his schoolmates who would venture to offend him by declining to regard his request.
“Well,” said Buster Billings, as if ready to give the puzzle up, “if none of the things we have mentioned is what’s ailing you, Lanky, for goodness sake, whatever it is, get it out of your system as quick as you can. You’re not the same kind of fellow we’re used to seein’ around. When you show up you give us all a cold shiver. Honest, now, it makes me think of spooks, graveyards and all that stuff just to look at you, Lanky.”
“Oh! does it?” jeered the other; “if that’s the case I’ll get a move on and step over to my chum, Frank Allen, who’s just come out of the classroom yonder. But before I go, fellows, just make your minds easy about me. If I am feeling sort of down in the mouth and serious-like just now, it isn’t going to affect my athletic stunts one little bit. I’m as fit as ever I was to run the race of my life. Frank knows, and he’ll tell you that same thing.”
“Are you?” said the doubter, Jack Eastwick; “maybe, maybe not. Time alone will tell that. Saturday the preliminary trials come off, and then we’ll get a pointer on what all our boys can do.”
But Lanky did not stop to listen to the “croaker.” Jack often threw cold water on everything with which he had any connection. It was very discouraging, to be sure, and more than once his schoolmates had threatened to hold him under the pump if he didn’t quit harping in that disagreeable way. For a little while Jack would manage to reform, only to break out later on; for habits are deep seated.
Apparently Lanky was more than eager to see Frank, judging from the way he hurried over to the other, as he issued from the school, stopping to speak to the old janitor, who was known among the boys as “Soggy.”
“Hello, Lanky!” was Frank’s greeting, as he eyed the other curiously; “seems to me I haven’t run across you this whole day up to now. But then I came late, as I had an errand to do for the professor, you see.”
“Yes, and it just happened that I wanted to get in touch with you, too,” remarked the tall boy, as he thrust his arm through Frank’s and started him walking so as to leave the janitor behind.
“Soggy was telling me that some of the boys had started to playing practical jokes on him again,” Frank remarked. “He’s got a notion that it must be that Bill Klemm and his cronies, Watkins Kline and Asa Barnes.”