“Wait,” cautioned Frank. “The remedy may be worse than the disease.”
“Who’s the sub?” asked Tom.
“Professor H. A. Broadkins, according to the bulletin board,” replied Dutch.
“What’s ‘H. A.’ stand for?” Sid wanted to know.
“Ha! Ha! of course,” replied Tom promptly.
“Joke!” spoke Frank solemnly.
“Harold Archibald,” declared Sid. “Oh, say, we won’t do a thing to him. I’ll wager he’s one of these pink and white little men, who wears a number twelve collar, and parts his hair in the middle, so he can walk a crack. Say, will to-morrow ever come?”
“Don’t take too much for granted,” advised Dutch. “I picked out a Harold Archibald once as an easy mark, and I got left. This may not be the same one, but—well, come on down the street. I’ve got a quarter that’s burning a hole in my pocket, and we might as well help Dobbins raise the mortgage on his drug store, by getting some hot chocolate there.”
“Pro bono publico!” ejaculated Tom. “Your deeds will live after you, Dutch.”