“Oh, I see. The back door, eh?” he inquired.
“Ye-es,” drawled Tubby, “and I must say your cook makes good pie and is inclined to look favorably on a starving Scout.”
“Starving! Why, it’s not two hours since breakfast!”
“Well, two hours is a long time—sometimes,” mumbled Tubby, who had taken another bite while Rob was speaking.
“What news from the Academy, Tubby?”
“Haven’t you heard? They haven’t been able to find another building big enough to house the scholars, so I guess it’s a holiday till the beginning of September for all of us,” cried Tubby with shining eyes. “Hullo, what’s that? A Latin grammar?”
He picked up a volume that lay on an adjoining chair. He regarded it attentively for a few seconds and then flung it forth into the garden where it landed in a rose bush.
“Let it lie there till September,” he chuckled. “Well, how are you anyhow, old fellow?” he rattled on. “It’s a week since the fire and you ought to be feeling fit again.”
“Never felt better in my life, although I was knocked out quite a bit; but you see I’ve had very good care, and——”
“Oh yes, Lucy Mainwaring has been to see you—once or twice, hasn’t she?” and Tubby, with an air of apparent abstraction, fell to studying a white cloud that happened to be drifting by far above them. Suddenly he faced about with a mischievous laugh.