In the morning Dan was glad to find that Gerald had evidently quite recovered and was himself again.
“Alf and Tom were sorry you didn’t go over last night,” said Dan. “Alf says you’re not to forget your boxing lesson Saturday. He says with about two more lessons he will fix you so you can go and knock spots out of Kilts.”
Gerald smiled.
“I won’t forget,” he said. “Maybe, though, I’ll give up boxing. I don’t believe there’s going to be—be any necessity for knowing how.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to call it off with Thompson,” said Dan. “I guess he means to behave himself now.”
“I’m going to call it off with other folks, too,” remarked Gerald; with which cryptic utterance he went off to breakfast.
Dan looked puzzled.
“Now, what did he mean by that?” he asked, half aloud. “I wonder if he has some new foolishness in his mind.”
To-day, as it happened, Dan’s recitations kept him away from the room all the morning, except for a half-hour between eleven and eleven-thirty, at which time, as he knew, Gerald had Latin with Mr. Collins, and so it was not until after twelve o’clock that the first suspicion reached him. Then, in front of Oxford, he ran across Joe Chambers. Joe was one of the sub-editors of the school weekly, The Scholiast, a Third Class fellow who wore glasses, looked cultured to the best of his ability, and was always on the watch for news for his paper. He buttonholed Dan at once.
“Say, Vinton, what’s up with Pennimore?”