“Oh, isn’t he good?” cried Tommy. “Did you hear him say that?”
“That’ll do for you, Bob,” said Dan.
Bob made an unsuccessful attempt to pull Dan’s stool from under him, and then gave his attention to the workers.
“Come now, ‘Babe,’ this isn’t a funeral, you know. You’ll have to tear paper faster than that, or you won’t have enough to trail from here to the dining-hall. Say, Kid Rooke, you’ve got a wrong idea of the game of shovelboard; it isn’t necessary to throw those weights on the floor every time! Besides, you’re making a beastly lot of noise.”
“All right, Bobby,” was the disrespectful reply. “Bobby” promptly threw a stick of kindling-wood with admirable precision, and Rooke played badly for some time in consequence of nursing a lame arm.
“Say, Bob, why couldn’t we get off on a little trip of our own?” asked Dan. “Don’t you think Clint would let us, seeing we’re not going to be here for the regular one?”
“Maybe he might,” answered Bob. “Last year he let six of the big fellows go off on a two days’ canoe trip.”
“Just the thing!” said Dan. “We’ll take your canoe and Carter’s—he’ll let us have it, all right—and we four’ll go. What do you say, fellows?”
“Great scheme!” said Nelson.