“Um,” mumbled Tom, as he turned once more to the book—but not to read.
“Where’s my hair brush?” demanded Phil. “If any of you fellows—Well the nerve of you, Sid!” he cried. “Using it on your shoes!”
“They’re patent leathers, and I only wanted to get a little dust off ’em,” pleaded the guilty one.
“Hand it over!” sternly ordered Phil. “And don’t you take it again. Use your pocket handkerchief.”
“Who’s seen my purple cuff buttons?” asked Frank.
“Haven’t got ’em. I saw Wallops the messenger with a pair like ’em the other day, though,” spoke Sid. “Wear the blue ones.”
“I will not! I got the purple ones to match my tie. Oh, here they are. I put ’em in my Latin grammar to mark a page. Say, it’s lucky I remembered.”
“It’s lucky some of you remember you’ve got heads,” half growled Tom. “I never saw such old maids! Don’t some of you want me to dab a little red on your cheeks?”
“Cut it out, and come on, you old Iambus,” grunted Phil—grunted because he was stooping over to lace his shoes. “Aren’t you coming, Tom?”