Trousers Cleaned25 CentsTrousers Pressed10 Cents
Coats Cleaned35 CentsCoats Pressed20 Cents
Suits, including Waistcoats, Cleaned60 CentsSuits Pressed35 Cents

Overcoats in Proportion

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T. TUCKER, 22 WHITSON HALL

Lack of trade didn’t worry Toby as much as it would have had he not won that scholarship, but he was glad when, that same evening, young Lingard knocked apologetically and presented himself and four articles of apparel to be cleaned and pressed. There was the same suit that Toby had toilsomely freed from its adornment of green paint, and an extra pair of trousers. This time the suit was spattered with some red-brown stuff, the nature of which Tommy Lingard was at a loss, or pretended to be at a loss, to explain. Toby frowned over it and finally said it looked like iron rust, but Lingard expressed doubts.

“Well, I dare say it will come out,” said Toby. “Most everything does except acid. Fellows ruin their things at chemistry and then wonder why I don’t get the spots out of them. I’ll have these ready to-morrow evening. By the way, Lingard, you never paid me for the last job, you know.”

“Didn’t I really?” The boy’s voice expressed the greatest surprise, but Toby wasn’t fooled. “H-how much was it?”

“Seventy-five,” answered Toby, referring to his memorandum book.

“I’m sorry, really.” Lingard searched his pockets and finally produced a crumpled dollar bill from some recess, and Toby tried to dig up a quarter in change. But sixteen cents was the best he could do, and he was on the point of suggesting that the quarter be applied on the new account when he remembered the hockey fund. He crossed to the bureau and pulled the little box from its concealment and abstracted two dimes and a nickel. Lingard was deeply interested in the gas-stove when Toby came back—Toby had just finished pressing a pair of his own trousers—and didn’t turn around until Toby spoke.