“Anything. I’m sick of studying. I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of this rotten rain.”
“Pull the curtains and you won’t know it’s raining,” advised Tom.
“Of course I’ll know it,” replied the other, crossly. “I’ve seen it. This is a mean old time of year, anyhow. There’s nothing to do but study and read and loaf around; no hockey, no baseball, no golf——”
“There’s chess.”
“Chess!” exclaimed Alf, derisively. “That’s not a game, that’s—that’s hard labor!”
“Well, I guess it will stop raining to-night,” said Tom, comfortingly. “And in a day or two you’ll be playing baseball—or trying to!”
“A day or two!” Alf’s book slipped from his knees and fell to the floor with an insulted rustling of leaves. With some difficulty he dropped one foot from the window-seat and kicked it venomously. “A day or two! Gee, I’ll be a doddering idiot before that.”
“You are now. Shut up and let me study.”
“What’s the good of studying?” growled Alf.
“Well, I understand,” replied the other, calmly, “that before they allow you to graduate from Yardley Hall, Mr. Loring, they hold what is known as a final examination. And the examination is due to begin in just three months. Having survived the recent one by a hair’s breadth, I thought I’d like to make sure of getting through the next. I’m very fond of this place, Alf, but I’ll be switched if I want to stay here another year.”