“It’s that idiot, Myron,” announced Joe breathlessly, and sank into a chair.
“What’s he done now?” asked Andrew interestedly.
“Bolted!”
“Bolted?”
“Beat it—vamoosed—lit out—gone!”
“Where? What for?”
“I don’t know where, but he’s gone. I suppose he’s headed home. He’s in wrong at the Office over Latin, and this morning Doc Lane told him to quit football. He was to have gone along with us to play Day and Robins, you know, and was all keyed up about it. I didn’t get many of the details: only saw him for about three minutes just before we left: but he was talking then about firing himself and hiring out to Kenwood for the rest of the year.”
Andrew frowned. “A sweet thought,” he murmured sarcastically.
“Oh, he wouldn’t do it,” said Joe. “He likes to talk like that, but he’s all right behind his mouth.”
“I hope so. Where—when did he go?”