“Open it yourself,” insisted Tom. “It’s as much your room as it is mine. Go ahead.”
But there was no need for any one to first encounter the stern gaze of some professor, if such the unannounced caller should prove to be. The knock was repeated and then a voice demanded:
“Say, you fellows needn’t pretend not to be in there. I can hear you whispering. What’s up?” and with that the portal swung open and Teeter Nelson entered. He advanced to the middle of the room and stood moving up and down on his tiptoes.
“I like your nerve!” he went on. “Having a spread and not tipping a fellow off. Is it all gone?” and with a sweep of his arm he sent the paper cover flying from over the half-emptied ginger ale glasses. “Where’s Peaches?” he demanded. “I know he’s out, for I was at his den, and there’s not a soul in. He’s got a ‘dummy’ in the bed, but it’s rank. Wouldn’t fool anybody.”
“Then you must have spoiled it!” exclaimed Peaches, sticking his head out from beneath the table, the cloth draping itself around his neck like a lady’s scarf. “I made a dandy figure. It would fool even Sixteen himself; and then I sneaked out. I made it look as natural as could be. I’ll bet you did something to it.”
“Only punched it a couple of times to see if it was you,” retorted Teeter. “But say, what’s going on? Why didn’t you open when I knocked?”
“Thought it was a prof.,” replied Joe. “Why didn’t you give the code knock. Tat—rat-a-tat-tat—tat-tat—and the hiss.”
“That’s right, I did forget it. But I got all excited when I found that Peaches had sneaked off without telling me. Say, what’s on, anyhow? Where’s the feed? Give me something good.”
“Nothing going but ginger ale,” answered Joe, as Peaches crawled the rest of the way out from under the table. “And I don’t know as there’s any left.”