“I can't help it; you say such very funny things,” said Beresford, wiping his eyes.
“Well, anyway, I'm going to pay him up this term,” declared Jenkins decidedly. He was rushing around the small room; the corners devoted to David being neatness itself, which couldn't truthfully be said of Joel's quarters. “I'm after his new tennis racket. Where in thunder is it?” tossing up the motley array of balls, dumb-bells, and such treasures, that showed on their surface they belonged to no one but Joel.
“Great Scott!” Tom cried with sudden interest, and coming out of his amusement. “You won't find it.”
“Saw him looking at it just now, before he went to class,” cried Jenkins, plunging around the room. “Where is the thing?” he fumed.
Berry gave a few swift, bird-like glances around the room, then darted over to the end of one of the small beds, leaned down, and picked out from underneath the article in question.
“Oh! give it to me,” cried Jenk, flying at him, and possessing himself of the treasure; “it's mine; I told you of it.”
“Isn't it a beauty!” declared Berry, his eyes very big and longing.
“Ha, ha—ain't it? Well, Joe won't see this in one spell.”
Jenkins gave it a swing over his head, then batted his knee with it.
“What are you going to do, Jenk?” demanded Berry, presently, when he could get his mind off from the racket itself.