"You mean it was he, you ignoramus. All right, Tom, have your own way about it. Only someone ought to warn the principal about him. Why, he might run off with a couple of the buildings some night!"
"Enjoy yourself," murmured Tom. "But you'll find I was right some day, you old pig-headed chump!"
"When I do I—I'll make you a present," answered Steve, with a grin.
"Any present you'd give me wouldn't cut much figure, I guess," said the boy on the bed contemptuously.
"Is that so? Say, what'll I do with this bag?" Steve laid the suit-case in question on his bed and threw open the lid. "The pajamas look clean, anyway," he continued as he viewed them. "I suppose I'll have to wear them." He drew the cap out and set it on his head. "Wonder what the B stands for, Tom."
"What bee?" asked Tom lazily.
"The B on this cap," replied the other, studying it.
Tom suddenly sat up on the bed. "Why, Brimfield, of course!" he exclaimed in triumph. "There now! Was I right or wasn't I?"
"Shucks! It might stand for anything: Brown, Brooklyn, beans, brownbread, basketball——"
"Yes, and Brimfield! And aren't the Brimfield colours maroon-and-grey, and isn't that cap grey, and isn't that B maroon?"