“I think even Duodecimo Donaldby, alias Tithonus Somnus himself would be at a loss,” declared Cap. “But, fellows,” he went on, addressing his two brothers, “keep up the good work. Make the name of ‘Smith’ a credit to the school.”
“The only trouble is that there are so many Smiths that in ages to come they won’t know which breed it was who did it,” complained Pete.
Mersfeld was bitter in his heart against our heroes, and was anxious for revenge, but he and North had had a falling out, and he did not know what he could do to get even with the Smith boys. Meanwhile he sulked in his room, and thought mean thoughts.
“Say, fellows, do you know I think we ought to do something,” remarked Bill to his brothers one day, as they came in tired but happy from the diamond, after some hard practice. “It’s been dull lately.”
“Yes, let’s paint another statue,” remarked Cap grimly.
“Or put a cow in the physics class,” suggested Pete.
“No, but seriously, I think it’s up to us to do something,” went on Bill. “We’ve got a lot of friends who expect things from us, and we ought to keep up our reputation. What do you say that we give a little spread? Dad sent me two fivers the other day.”
“You can’t give a spread for that,” declared Cap.
“I know it, but you fellows have some, and if you loosen up a bit—”
“Oh, count us in,” came quickly from Pete, “only how are you going to do it? Hire a hall in town, and—”