“No, I was never here before. I reckon school’s up that way somewhere. We’ll just have to break through the bushes, I suppose. Shall we try it?”
“Have to, I guess. Gee, but it’s getting chilly!” Monty shivered as a little night wind caressed his damp form. “I’ll go ahead. I’ve done this sort of thing before.” He started into the bushes and pushed and crashed his way through them, his new acquaintance following at his heels. It was nearly pitch dark now and Monty had to guess at his direction, but the fringe along the river was not deep and presently, somewhat scratched by branches, they stood on the edge of the field and the lights of the school buildings twinkled across at them and a million stars blinked calmly down from a purple-black sky. To their right a darker shadow loomed and Monty guessed it to be the boathouse. He chuckled as he led the way across the turf.
“If we had gone a little further we’d have had a better place for our scrap,” he said. “The boathouse float would make a fine ring, I guess. Say, what were we fighting about, partner?”
“I called you a silly ass or something, didn’t I?” responded the other mildly. “And I think you called me monkey face, and said you would lick me. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Neither do I,” laughed Monty. “Fact is—er—I say, what’s the name, eh?”
“Desmarais.”
“Des—mer—er?”
“Des—ma—ray. It’s French.”