“Get out. You better go home.”
“I haven't the smallest intention of going,” replied Jasper, and successfully coming off with a second book.
“Here's for book number three,” declared Pickering—but too late. Jasper seized the remaining two, tossed them back of him, then squared off.
“Come on for a tussle, old fellow. You're not fit to study—ruin your eyes. Come on!” his whole face sparkling.
It was too much. The table was pushed one side; books and lessons, Mr. Faber and college, were as things never heard of. And for a good quarter of an hour, Pickering, whose hours of exercise had been much scantier of late, was hard pushed to parry all Jasper's attacks. At the last, when the little clock on the mantel struck four, he came out ahead.
“I declare, that was a good one,” he exclaimed in a glow.
“Particularly so to you,” said Jasper ruefully. “You gave me a regular bear-hug, you scamp.”
“Had to, to pay you up.”
“And now you may study,” cried Jasper gaily; and snatching his books, he ran off.
“Oh, Pick,” putting his head in at the door.