Cotton, who had suspected himself to be in some way the subject of the laughter that had greeted him, was restored to equanimity. He joined in the laughter that followed and made himself comfortable on the bed.
“Where’d you get that thing?” he asked. “Let’s see how I’d look in it, Duke.”
“Heaven forfend!” replied The Duke vehemently as he thrust it into his pocket. “It wouldn’t become you, Charles, it really wouldn’t.”
Cotton smiled in the manner of one humoring a child or harmless lunatic and turned to Merriwell. “How’s the team getting on?” he asked.
“Fair, thanks,” replied the captain without enthusiasm.
“Going to win on Saturday?”
“Hope to.”
“You’ll have to brace up your line, then. I was reading to-day that Forest Hill has a wonderful attack this year.”
“What sort of an attack?” asked The Duke interestedly. “Not mumps, I hope.”