“Over to Lit. Any other gentleman care to come? All are invited. This is debate night and the finest minds of the school will be on tap. The subject—well, I disremember, but I think it’s—‘Resolved: That one member of Literary Society is better than seven members of Forum.’”
Dud howled derisively and the quartette adjourned to School Hall.
The debate was not especially exciting to Monty, and he couldn’t for the life of him see why the speakers got so wrought up. After it was over he left the others in front of Trow and walked home to Morris, encountering two other occupants of that dormitory on the way and finishing the walk in their company. While they were still some distance away they heard shrill and plaintive wails, and Monty groaned.
“It’s Standart and his piccolo,” he explained. “I have to live with it, fellows.”
“I’m hanged if I would,” said Denham indignantly as they ran up the steps. “I’d pitch it out the window.”
“And do it while Alvin was still playing it,” chuckled his roommate.
Alvin was seated at the table with a book of exercises opened before him and a strained expression on his face. The piccolo was glued to his puckered lips as he turned to view Monty. The latter pretended surprise.
“Oh, it’s you!” he said. “We heard the noise and thought someone was pulling the cat’s tail. Say, I believe you’re getting on with it, Standart. It sounds a heap worse than it did before supper. I guess you’re one of those fellows with a natural gift for music, aren’t you?”
But Alvin made no reply. He only turned his head away, fixed his gaze again on the music and proceeded to evoke piercing sounds from the piccolo. Monty tried not to mind it as he undressed, but didn’t make a great big success of it.