“Botheration!” ejaculated the boy. “I've fifty lines to do, else I'm shut in from the game. And Simmons has run off with my book.”
“Try Joe Pepper's room; he's in math recitation,” said Jenk suddenly. “He has one, Toppy.”
“You're a brick.” Toppy flew down the hall, and bolted into Joel's room.
“Holy Moses, what luck! He'll prowl for an hour over Joe's duds. Come on.” Jenk had his head in the cupboard, and his fingers almost on the racket, when Toppy's voice rang dismally down the hall: “Joe must have taken it.”
Jenk pulled his fingers out, and had the door fast, and was quite turned away from the dangerous locality. “Well, I don't know what you'll do, Toppy,” he said, controlling his dismay enough to speak. “Run down and skin through the fellows' rooms on first floor. Oh, good gracious!” he groaned, “it's all up with getting it now,” as a swarm of boys came tumbling over the stairs.
So he mixed with them, laughing and talking, and Berry melted off somewhere. And no one had time to think a syllable of anything but the great game of tennis to be called at two o'clock, between the two divisions of Dr. Marks' boys. Some of the team of the St. Andrew's School, a well-known set of fellows at this sport and terribly hard to beat, were going to be visitors. So there was unusual excitement.
“What's up, Pepper?” A howl that rose above every other sort of din that was then in progress, came from Joel's room.
“He's been in here!” Joel plunged out of the doorway, tossing his black, curly locks, that were always his bane, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Say, where's Jenk? He's been in my room,” he cried, doubling up his small fists.
“What is it?” cried Jenkins, making as if just coming up the stairs. “What's all the row about?”
“You've been in my room,” shouted Joel in a loud, insistent voice, “and taken my——” The rest was lost in a babel of voices.