Later, climbing the hill again, Toby asked: “Changed your mind any about this place, Tubb?”
“How do you mean?” But, in spite of assumed ignorance, he understood, and in the next breath he went on. “Yes, I have, Tucker,” he said frankly. “I said a lot of things I didn’t believe, anyhow. I had an awful grouch at first. Guess you—guess you must have thought I was a perfect blamed nuisance!”
“N-no, not exactly. You got me riled pretty often, though.”
“Did I? I suppose I must have. Well——” Tubb hesitated. “Say, I want you to know that I appreciate everything, Tucker; everything you did to make me—make me get onto myself. Of course I know that I’m not the sort of fellow that other fellows take to, but—but I’ve been—sort of—getting along lately. Football’s done it, I guess, and you started me on that. That’s why I say that I’d like you to know——”
“All right.” Toby chuckled. “Tubb, I decided a long while ago that when you got straightened out here I was going to do something to prove to my own satisfaction that—well, that you were a regular fellow.”
“What was it?” asked the other, puzzled.
“I was going to call you something,” answered Toby gravely. “I guess you have got straightened out pretty well and so I guess I’ll do it right now.” They had reached the second floor of Whitson and Toby had started toward Number 12. “See you later, Wash-Tub!”
Then his door closed behind him hurriedly. But George Tubb, continuing his way upstairs after a moment, looked anything but vengeful!