“I think it’s a deuce of a note that I’m going to get left on the long trip!” said Dan aggrievedly.
They were sitting, the Four, in front of the fireplace in Birch Hall. Before them a couple of giant logs were crackling merrily. Outside it was raining steadily, and through the open door and windows the breeze swept in damp, and redolent of wet earth and vegetation. Now and then a rain-drop found its way down the big chimney and fell hissing into the fire. Siesta was over with, and the weather made outdoor pursuits uncomfortable, if not impossible. Besides the Four, the room held a dozen or so other lads, three of whom—juniors these—were busily engaged in filling a soap-box with torn paper for the hare-and-hounds chase scheduled for the morrow.
“Well, so am I,” said Nelson. “I’ve got to get back home by the first of September myself. We’re going to the St. Louis Fair about the first.”
“Wish I was,” Dan responded gloomily. “I’ve got to put in a couple of weeks with the oculist. He’s going to do something to my eyes, and I’ll have to mope around for about a week with a bandage over ’em.”
“Hard luck,” said Bob. “And I wish you fellows were going on the trip with us, I certainly do. It’s the finest sort of fun. Can’t you stay, Nel? What do you care about their old Exposition?—a lot of machinery and fool pictures, and such truck!”
“I’ve got to go. Anyhow, I want to see it; I didn’t get to the one in Buffalo. I saw the Chicago Fair, though. That was swell!”
“You bet it was!” said Tom, his patriotism to the fore. “There hasn’t been one to come up to that yet, and there won’t be for a long old while!”
“Oh, forget it,” answered Dan, “you and your old Chicago! To hear you go on, a fellow’d think Chicago was the only place in the world!” Dan was from New York, and pretended a deep scorn for the Windy City.
“That’s all right,” said Tom. “But you’ve never had anything like our fair in your tu-tu-tu-town!”
“Don’t want one,” answered Dan calmly. “You just lost a lot of money on it.”