“For gracious sake, Tommy,” protested Bob, “shut up! How do you think we’re going to write letters when——”
“Oh, go ahead and write your old letters,” grumbled Tom. “I thought you’d want to know how it came out, that’s all.”
“What’s he talking about, Bob?” Dan asked.
“I’m telling you that the Sue won,” answered Tom with dignity.
“Won what?”
“The race, you idiot!”
“Sue who? What race?”
“Who’s being sued, Tommy?” asked Nelson, looking up from his sixth sheet of paper. Tom looked about him despairingly.
“Say, you lunatics,” he exclaimed after an eloquent silence, “stop gibbering a moment, will you? I’m trying to tell you that the Sue——”
“Oh, Sioux!” said Nelson, turning back to the letter. “I thought you were talking about some one suing some one. Anyone scalped yet? I’d like to live out your way and see some of these Indian uprisings, Tommy. Are there any Sioux in Chicago?”