“Oh, feathers! Well, I’m not going back for it to-night. Let’s try yours, Poke.”
“Won’t fit. You tried it last year. Get a hammer.”
“Haven’t any.”
“Put your fool head out in the hall and yell for one.”
“All right. Say, Poke, weren’t you surprised when J. G. let us off on our room?”
“Rather! But I dare say there are plenty of fellows who’ll be glad of it.”
“Well, they can have it! I like this ten times better. Of course we’re paying a little more—”
“About fifty cents a week more,” said Poke scornfully, “and what’s that? I’ll bet Mrs. Hazard will give us better things to eat than we got at school. And anyway it will be more—more homelike.”
“‘Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home,’” sang Gil as he opened the door. Then, “Say, Poke, who shall I yell for?”
“Yell for a hammer, of course.”