"Besides you'll hurt yourself if you make awful noises like that," commented the other. "The last chap who did it busted. And nobody wants to gather up your pieces."
"Beasts!" said the small boy; and again, desperately: "Lester!"
"He's somewhere over in that corner," said a senior boy, who was standing against a tree, sheltering from the nipping wind while he knitted his brows over a Virgil—unpleasantly conscious that the Doctor would demand heart-to-heart intercourse concerning it within half an hour. "Clear out, for goodness' sake, and stop behaving like a motor siren."
The small boy trotted away in the direction indicated, dodging the footballing groups as best he could, and keeping a sharp look out for the object of his search. Presently his anxious face lightened, and he hurled himself against a boy who, being just about to kick at a spinning ball, turned upon him, justly indignant.
"Can't you look out where you're going, you silly young ass!"
"Lester, you're wanted!" said the messenger breathlessly.
"Who by?" demanded Dick Lester, ungrammatically.
"The doctor. And he said you were to hurry."
"Now, I wonder what I've been doing." Lester knitted his brows. "Was he in a wax?"
"Oh, much the same as usual," returned the messenger—to whom the doctor, even in his most benevolent moments, was a being of terror and thunderbolts. "You'd better hurry up, or you'll know all about it."