“I sure can’t see the necessity of exhibiting a genuine skeleton before the class,” said Rod Grant. “If we were medical students, it would be different; but, as far as I’m concerned, I can acquire all the knowledge I desire about the bones of the human body without examining such human framework at short range.”
“It can’t be possible,” said Chub Tuttle, “that a fellow who has scalped schoolmasters and tickled Injuns to death is afraid of a harmless skeleton.”
“I don’t admit any that I’m afraid of the thing,” returned Grant; “but I simply say, what’s the use?”
Standing near, Berlin Barker shrugged his shoulders and laughed an unspoken sneer, which caused the warm blood to glow through the tan of Rod’s cheeks. Turning on his heel, Barker joined some fellows who were jumping at the corner of the academy. Grant’s gaze followed him. In a moment or two, urged to do so, Barker, who prided himself on his ability as a jumper, stripped off his coat and entered into competition with Jack Nelson.
Rod drew near and looked on.
“That’s pretty fair,” he observed, when Berlin, doing his level best, had beaten Nelson by a good six inches.
Barker turned on him. “Pretty fair, you lead-heeled gas bag! Perhaps you think you can beat it?”
“Maybe so,” nodded Rod.
“I’ll bet ten dollars you can’t come within a foot of my mark.”
“Keep your money in your clothes, partner; you may need it some.”