“Well, you have had a time of it,” said Gerald, sympathetically, when he had finished. “And I’m sorry about that pole. It was a dandy, wasn’t it?”
“I’ll never get another one like it,” responded Arthur, gloomily. “It was one Danforth gave me. He used it two years against Broadwood and got first each time. He made his record of ten feet ten and a half with that pole. He gave it to me because he thought it was getting too light for him. I’m not exactly—what do you call it?—superstitious, but I don’t like breaking that stick; I believe it means bad luck in the Duals.”
“Oh, nonsense! Besides, one pole more or less won’t matter,” added Gerald, with a smile. “Chambers has it all doped out here in The Scholiast for us to win easily.”
“Yes, Chambers is a wonder at prophecy, I don’t think. He’s never guessed anything right yet. And then that little chump Harry made me red hot——”
“He’s getting to be a regular little beast,” said Gerald.
“You bet he is. Sometimes I almost wish we’d let him stay in the pond that time!”
“Is he as bad as that?” laughed Gerald. “But what did he mean by getting even with you?”
“Just bluff,” answered Arthur, indifferently. “I dare say he’d like to do me something mean, though. Well, I’m sick of thinking about him. If he doesn’t behave I’ll grab him some day and just about shake the breath out of him. What’s Chambers say about the meet?”
Arthur picked up The Scholiast again.