“You’re such a bonehead that you don’t recognize real worth when you see it,” Bert retorted, good-naturedly. “There’s another one,” he added, pointing to Dick, who was trying to figure out a calculus problem. “He prefers grinding in calculus to listening to an interesting tale of my trials and tribulations.”
“It isn’t a question of preference, it’s a case of dire necessity,” Dick sighed, despondently. “If only I hadn’t cut class the other day I would be all right, but as it is I’ll have to cram to make up for it. Oh, if I only had the fellow who invented calculus here, I’d——” and in the absence of anything better Dick pulled his own mop of tangled hair and applied himself furiously to the solving of what he called “an unsolvable problem.”
“Poor old chap, never mind,” consoled Tom. “When I come back to-night with old Pete under my arm I’ll tell you just how I caught him.”
“Do you mean to say that you are going fishing for old Pete to-day?” Dick asked, forgetting all about calculus in his excitement.
“Sure,” Tom replied, placidly. “Didn’t we agree that the first clear Saturday we had off we’d take for our fishing trip?”
“So we did, but that was so long ago that I’d clean forgotten it. Why didn’t you remind us of it sooner, Tom? You would have spared me a lot of useless worry as to how I was going to spend a baseball-less day.”
“I didn’t think of it myself until I came into the room,” Tom admitted, “but I suppose Dick can’t go with us now. It’s too bad he cut the other day,” he added, with a sly glance at the discarded calculus.
“Don’t let it worry you,” Dick retorted. “Do you suppose that anything in earth could keep me from hunting Old Pete to-day, now that you have brought him so forcibly to my mind? Go on down and get your tackle, Tom. Bert and I will join you in no time.”