Hope sobered. “I shan’t like you, Poke,” she said gravely, “if you’re mean to Mr. Hanks.”
“Who? Me? Honest, now, I haven’t done a thing, have I, Gil?”
“Not much,” answered Gil. “No more than I have. We’ve all had a go at him. I think, though, it’s about time we let up. I guess we’ll have to squelch Bull Gary, Poke.”
Poke nodded. “I guess so. Bull lacks a—a sense of sufficiency.”
“What’s that?” inquired Jeff.
“That is a polite way of saying that he doesn’t know when he’s had enough. By the way, Jim, did we tell you that Gary has taken a room at Jones’s? He says it’s fine, but that’s poppycock. Jones’s is the worst hole in the village. I guess he’s still peeved with you for not renting a room to him.”
“I don’t see how I could,” said Jim, laying aside the lock with a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t going to put Jeff out; or you fellows either. Besides, I don’t like him.”
“Well, Bull isn’t terribly popular,” said Gil, “but he’s really not so awfully bad. All he needs is some one to beat a little sense into him. He’s a lot better than when he first came. I dare say that some day Gary will be a useful member of society.”
“In the sweet by and by,” said Poke skeptically. “And, say, Gil, what’s the matter with Bull’s playing this year? He’s way off his game. Johnny gave him a fierce ragging this afternoon. Did you hear him? Told Bull that if he didn’t do better than he’d been doing he’d be wearing a nice warm blanket on the side-line. I guess Bull has a swelled head after last year.”
“Does he play well?” asked Jim.