“Not as much as you do, Ducky, I guess,” squeaked a premature wit and got his ears cuffed for his effort.
A few minutes later Wilson dropped into the study of Number Five Standerland, which Deering and Lawrence were sharing that year, Carroll having been promoted to the Old School, a privilege of the Sixth. The two boys were sitting at their desks, books open, it is true, but rather deeper in football than Virgil. Kit received a characteristic welcome.
“Hello, old sport, drape yourself on a couch, and listen to this fairy tale about the pious Æneas. Tony’s boned it out.”
“Oh, chuck the stuff!” growled Kit. “I’ll do it after breakfast with a trot. I’ve only got ten minutes now for a pow-wow. Have you seen the new kid?”
“Well, rather,” answered Jimmie, “the Doctor has loaded him onto Bill. He’s to have Number Three single right across the hall. The little beast is in the Fifth.”
“Pon honor?” said Kit. “Why, he looks like a sub-First Former. I just rescued him from a crowd of Lower Schoolers that were putting it to him particularly nastily. I gave Ducky Thornton, that wallowing white elephant of the Third, a kick that I reckon’ll make his sitting down uncomfortable for a week. But Finch is such a gloomy little toad that I was almost sorry I’d done it.”
Tony smiled. “That must have been good fun. But I am sorry the Doctor took him here; can’t understand it, in fact. He’ll never do, poor rat!”
“Well, hardly.”
“By the by, kiddo, what——Come in!” he interrupted himself to cry in response to a knock at the door.