“Cut it out, Alf,” growled Tom. “Don’t be nasty.”
“It’s a fact,” declared his roommate, warming to his subject the more as he saw Joe Chambers losing his temper. “For instance, there’s a new plank walk put down from Merle to the gym steps on Monday. The following Friday The Scholiast comes out with the startling information that ‘A new plank walk has been established from Merle Hall to the Gymnasium, and is meeting with much favor from those who have occasion to pass that way.’ News! Poppycock!”
“Anything connected with the school,” said Joe with much dignity, “is of interest to the readers of The Scholiast.”
“Then why don’t you put in something that every one doesn’t know? Why don’t you tell about Old Toby’s new wig? That’s real hot stuff for your readers. Why, Toby hasn’t had a new wig before in the memory of the oldest inhabitant!”
“You’re a silly ass,” grunted Joe. “I’m glad I don’t have to edit your copy.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to write for your paper,” Alf retorted. “If I did, though, I’ll bet I’d get some more interesting stuff in it.”
“Oh, you make me tired,” said Joe, getting up. “You’re a regular Mister Fixit. You couldn’t hold down a reporter’s job for ten minutes.”
“Fancy that! Joe, I’ll bet you—I’ll bet you a feed at Farrell’s for the crowd that I can get out a livelier number of The Scholiast than you ever have. What do you say?”
“I say you’re a silly idiot,” replied Joe from the doorway.