“Did you say any more to Langridge, old man?” asked Tom of Sid, that night in the room of the “inseparables.”
“No, it wasn’t necessary.”
“You should have heard Miss Harrison lay him out,” exulted Phil. “She certainly put it all over him!”
“How?” demanded Sid eagerly, and his chums took turns telling him how the blue-eyed girl had given Langridge his “walking papers” in a manner very distasteful to that individual.
“No! You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Sid joyfully. Then, as a look came into his eyes that his chums had not seen there since the first happy days he had experienced with Mabel Harrison, Sid went on:
“Say, what’s the date of the Junior racket? I’ve mislaid my tickets.”
“Why?” asked Tom mischievously, though he well knew.
“None of your affair,” retorted Sid, but there was no sting in his answer.
“It’s next Friday,” put in Phil.
Sid tossed aside the things on his desk, and made a great fuss about writing a letter, while Phil and Tom casually looked on, well knowing to whom the epistle was addressed. Sid made several false starts, and destroyed enough paper to have enabled him to compute several problems and tore up a lot of envelopes before he finished something that met with his approval, and then he went out to post it.