“No, thanks, I don’t believe I will,” replied Joe listlessly.
“Don’t you want to meet that Yale fellow? Maybe he could give you some points.”
“No, I’d rather not.”
“All right,” assented Tom quickly. Something in his chum’s tones made him wonder what was the matter, but he did not ask.
“I’ve got some packing to do,” went on Joe, conscious that he was not acting very cordially toward his old schoolmate. “I may see you later.”
“Sure, any time. I’ll be on hand to see you off for Yale, old man.”
“Yale!” whispered Joe, as he swung off toward his own home, half-conscious of the pointing fingers and whispered comments of a number of street urchins who were designating him as “dat’s de pitchin’ guy what walloped de Resolutes!”
“Yale!” thought Joe. “I’m beginning to hate it!”
And then a revulsion of feeling suddenly came over him.
“Hang it all!” he exclaimed as he stumbled along. “This is no way for a fellow to feel if he’s going to college. I’ve got to perk up. If I am to go to Yale, I’m going to do my best to be worth it!”