"Looks bad for somebody," said Phil.
"What does?" asked Amzi.
"When Jack goes out on his horse, it's a sign somebody's going to jail."
"Only serving subpœnas, I reckon," said Amzi.
They espied Fred driving a corn-planter across a long level field, and stopped the car. He ran to the fence to talk to them, and they all alighted. It was a warm afternoon and he mopped his face with a big bandanna as he talked to them. He rested his arms on the top rail of the fence, playing with his cap—not the disreputable old coonskin with which Phil had become familiar that winter, but the regular Madison College cap with a scarlet "M" above the visor.
"In the words of the poet," began Phil, "where did you get that hat?"
"This? Oh, the day of the Main Street rumpus I lost mine and one of the boys lent me his. I meant to get him another, but I haven't been to town since. And besides, I've forgotten his name."
"That's George Nesbit's cap," Phil answered, after eyeing it critically. "I know because it's an old style nobody else wore this year. George lives at the Phi Gam house, if you care for his address."
"I hope you don't know them all as well as that, Phil," remarked Lois.
"She does," chuckled Amzi; "she does, indeed."