“Well, he ought to be turned out,” declared one boy decidedly. “Never mind, we'll make it so hot for that Jenk, he'll want to go.”
“No, you mustn't,” declared Percy, now very much alarmed. “Oh, no, you mustn't, Hobbs; because, if you do, Joel won't like it. Oh, he'll be so angry! He won't like it a bit, I tell you,” he kept saying.
The idea of Joel's not liking it, seemed to take all the fun out of the thing; so Hobbs found himself saying, “Well, all right, I suppose we've got to put up with the fellow then. But you know yourself, Whitney, he's a mean cad.”
There seemed to be but one opinion about that. But the fact remained that Jenkins was still to be one of them, to be treated as well as they could manage. And for the next few days, Joel had awfully hard work to be go-between for all the crowd, and the boy who had made it hard for him.
“You'll have to help me out, Tom,” he said more than once in despair.
“Pretty hard lines,” said Tom. Then the color flew all over his face. “I suppose I really ought, for you know, Pepper, I told you I wanted at first that you should lose your racket.”
“Never mind that now, Tom,” said Joel brightly, and sticking out his brown hand. “You've been awfully good ever since.”
“Had to,” grunted Tom, hanging to the hand, “when I saw how mean the beggar was.”
“And but for you I should never have found the racket, at least not in time.” Joel shivered, remembering the close call he had had from losing the game.
Tom shivered too, but for a different cause. “If I hadn't told him, I'd always have hated myself,” he thought.