Rob smiled as he looked after him.
“What did you mean by that ice-cream soda remark?” asked Malcolm.
“Nothing much. Only last fall I was in Webster’s buying some fountain-pen ink when Hop and Prentiss came in. They didn’t see me, because I was at the back of the store and there was a wire rack filled with sponges in front of me. ‘What will you have?’ asked Hopkins. ‘Oh, ice-cream soda, I guess,’ Prentiss answered. ‘Might as well take the best. It doesn’t come out of our pocket, Hop.’ And Hop laughed and said he guessed that was about right; ‘Incidentals, eh, Ed?’ he asked. Oh, of course, I don’t know anything,” ended Rob dryly, “but I sort of suspect!”
“Well, you made Prentiss mad, all right,” chuckled Mal.
“I thought he was going to light into you,” said Wright.
“Did you? I didn’t. I know him. He wouldn’t light into a flea!” Rob smiled. “Say, why do you suppose he thinks I put that old box in there?”
“Well, didn’t you?” asked Wright. “Every one says you did.”
“How extremely absurd,” murmured Rob. “It was a cigar-box, and every one knows I don’t smoke cigars. Let’s go in and take a fall out of English. Mal, have you any idea what the lesson’s about? I quite forgot to look at it last night. I—er—I was busy.”
There was much speculation as to what steps Hopkins and Prentiss would take to secure the balance of the money needed for the team. Perhaps I should say wanted instead of needed, for the consensus of opinion was to the effect that eighty-odd dollars was quite as much as past performances warranted. But curiosity was soon satisfied, for the next morning, Saturday, the following notice appeared in Academy Hall:
“Contributions for Foot-Ball Team