"We'll call him out to-night for the wrestling," said McCarthy.
"He's a queer, plunging sort of animal," said Stover reflectively. "I wonder if he'll ever do anything up here?"
Saunders, riding past on a bicycle, pad protruding from his pocket, slowed up with a cordial hail:
"Howdy! I'm heeling the News. If you get any stories, pass them on to me. Thought you fellows were down at our joint. Where the deuce are you fellows grubbing?"
"We dropped into a place one of your Andover crowd's runnin'."
"Who's that?"
"Fellow called Gimbel."
Saunders rode on a bit, wheeled, came slowly back, resting his hand on Stover's shoulder.
"Look here," he said, frowning a little. "Gimbel's a good sort, clever and all that; but look here—you're not decided, are you?"