The other two quickly desisted and helped the wounded warrior to his seat. “I’m sorry, kid,” began Tony. “Didn’t mean to hurt you. Does it hurt so much, old man?” he added, teasingly.
Kit could not resist, but lumbered forward, despite the thumped knee, and fell afresh on the light-footed Deering.
“Keep off, Jim!” yelled Tony, and again they went crashing to the ground. “He has got to eat that nice clean white snow.”
“No—! I swear,” protested Kit. But they were in for it, and with Jimmie standing by, after a few moments of furious wrestling, both fed the other handfuls of snow, until exhausted with laughter and the effort, they lay supine and called on Lawrence piteously to help them up.
“I’m off,” said Jimmie, “call-over bell is ringing, and the Gumshoe’s on deck.”
“Oh, hang, oh hang the Gumshoe,” pleaded Kit.
They picked themselves up, cheeks glowing, eyes glistening, clothes and hair tossed.
“Such is life,” said Wilson, ostentatiously rubbing his knee.
At this moment Mr. Roylston emerged from the door of the Old School and was passing them on his way to the Gymnasium to hold call-over. He glanced at their disheveled clothes and paused.
“Will you take our names, sir?” asked Lawrence.