“She’s a peach,” murmured Hank, half aloud, half to himself.
Hullo, thought George, has old Hank gone bughouse on her too! Then aloud: “You mean Tommie?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, she’s not so bad.”
“And I went and forgot her book! Bud, d’you remember to-day, when we were all standing like a lot of lost hoodlums, going to turn our backs on this proposition, and the way she yanked us round? It came on me then.”
“What?”
“I dunno. Bud, say—”
“Yes?”
“She’s great. It came on me to-day like a belt on the head with a sandbag. It came to me before. Remember the day she was first aboard and wouldn’t put back, wanting to save our faces? Well, that hit me, but the jaw punch got me to-day, and just now when she trundled off to her tent, lugging that blanket behind her, I seemed to get one in the solar plexus that near sent me through the ropes. Bud, I’m on my back, being counted out.”
“Oh, talk sense,” said Bud. “We’ve too much work on hand to be carrying on with girls. Tie a knot in it, Hank, till we’re clear of this place, anyhow. Besides it’s ten to one there’s some other chap after her.”