Dick was a picture of wrath, as he stood sputtering by the road-side. His clothes were foul, the natural result of crawling into a duck cave, and he was apparently sick at the stomach.
"What's wrong, Dick?"
"A beastly trick,—phew—ah, egg—phew—ah, in mouth,—phew—ah—addled—broke."
Ande roared and roared with shrieking laughter. Dick had filled the bag and his pockets, and finding one extra one, had placed it in his mouth for safe keeping, just before the latch gave way.
"Well," said Ande, "they aren't all broke, and the most must be good."
Dick, at first was very much incensed, but Ande, while he helped to clean him up at the Red River, explained how he had closed the door to avert suspicion. Dick was mollified when the description of Greggs's terrors was related, and laughed a faint laugh that partly brought back his good humour.
It appeared that Greggs had ill-treated his poor old father, and had robbed him of some of his savings. Taking warning from the supposed admonition of his Satanic majesty, he afterward treated his father with the greatest consideration, refunding the shillings he had stolen. Nothing, however, could induce him to pass that way again, and the story getting wind and becoming much exaggerated, few would trust themselves in that locality after dusk.
"Whew! Look here, Dick." Ande picked up the basket and drew from it a small bottle of rye.
"The very thing we need," gasped Dick, "the egg-nog shall become punch."
"I don't know, Dick. You see, if we take it, it'll be stealing. The school rules are against it, and no matter how sparingly and temperately a fellow uses it no allowance is made."