“I don’t care whether it’s hid or not!” exclaimed Phil. “But if you don’t get down here and help hold this end, while I nail the other, I know what’s going to happen.”
“What?” asked Tom, as he carefully put in his pocket the photograph of the pretty girl.
“Well, you’ll have a mob of howling freshmen in here, and there won’t be any sofa left.”
“Perish the thought!” cried Tom, and then he set to work in earnest helping Phil.
“Now a board on the back,” said the amateur carpenter, and for a few minutes he hammered vigorously.
“It’s a regular anvil chorus,” remarked Tom.
“Here, no knocking!” exclaimed his chum. “Now let’s see if it’s stiff enough.”
Anxiously he raised one end of the sofa. There was no sagging in the middle this time.
“It’s like putting a new keel on a ship!” cried the inventor of the scheme gaily. “A few more nails, and it will do. Do you think the chair will stand shifting?”
“Oh, yes. That’s like the ‘one-horse shay’—it’ll hold together until it flies apart by spontaneous combustion. You needn’t worry about that.”