“And I. I’ve always liked Reggie despite his supercilious disdain, but Arty’s a beast, and always was,” said Kit, drinking his coffee at a gulp. “Here, let’s stow these things, and cut around to the north and take a peep as to what that precious pair are up to. Evidently no five o’clock for them.”
“What’s the difference where they are going?” said Tony. “I have no mind to spy on them.”
“Well, I have a consuming curiosity,” Kit rejoined. “They’re up to mischief, I’ll be bound.”
“Light out then,” said Tony, “for Jim and I are going back over the ridges.”
“And leave your precious footprints in the snow,” protested Kit. “La! la! stow the stuff, will you then? I’ll report if there’s anything doing.”
And despite his companions’ adjurations Kit clambered off over the rocks and started out in the direction indicated by Carroll’s and Chapin’s footsteps in the snow.
The boys got safely back without being detected, but Kit was a quarter of an hour late, and created a sad disturbance when he entered in the midst of Mr. Roylston’s Third Latin recitation.
“The incorrigible Wilson,” remarked Mr. Roylston, without turning his beady black eyes in his direction, “will kindly take a pensum of one hundred lines for being late and disturbing the class.”
“Very well, sir,” said Kit.
“Spare me your comments, pray. Continue your recitation, Turner; Book Four, Chapter Fourteen, line twenty. Proceed. Cæsar—”