“Yes, you could do that,” Jimmy agreed thoughtfully. “You could say that you just had to change the air.”
Monty looked puzzled, but Leon laughed and Dud smiled proudly. “Isn’t he clever?” he asked. “All due to me!”
“Well, say, aside from this piccolette, or whatever you call it,” said Jimmy, “everything remains in status quo, so to speak, between you and the fascinating Alvin? That is to say, old dear, he hasn’t made any more threats about—er—you know?”
“Oh, that! No, I guess he’s decided to drop it. I told him plainly that he would meet a swift and horrible end if he told what he knows. He hates me like poison, but I guess I’ve got him scared.”
“Well, scare him again,” suggested Leon. “Tell him you’ll wash his face if he doesn’t stop playing the piccolo.”
Monty shook his head. “I tried to scare him, but it didn’t seem to work. He says he has a right to play a musical instrument in his room at any time except study hour. I suppose he has, too. Joe Mullins says so.”
“Best thing for you to do,” said Dud, “is get a cornet or a—a French horn or something.”
“They’d sound the riot-call then,” said Monty dismally. “No, the only thing is to kill him. I’ve tried to think up some other scheme, but there isn’t any. Say, do you suppose his parents are fond of him?”
“You never can tell,” answered Jimmy. “Parents are queer that way. There’s Dud, now. His folks appear to be quite interested in him.”
“Oh, Dud has his points,” said Leon, “but it really is strange to think that anyone could honestly care what happened to Standart!”