"Nothing. I was just—thinking."
"Well, stop it, then. You weren't intended to think. You always do something silly when you get to thinking. Wash up and come on to supper."
"I'm not going over tonight," answered Don. "I'm not hungry. And, anyway, I don't feel quite like facing it yet."
"Now, look here," began Tim severely, "if you're going to take it like that——"
"I'm not, I guess. Only I'd rather not go to supper tonight. I am through at the training-table and I funk going back to the other table just now. Besides, I'm not the least bit hungry. You run along."
Tim observed him frowningly. "Well, all right. Only if it was me I'd take the bull by the horns and see it through. Fellows will talk more if you let them see that you give a hang."
"They'll talk enough anyway, I dare say. A little more won't matter."
"I just hope Holt gets gay again," said Tim venomously, shying the towel in the general direction of the rack and missing it by a foot. "Want me to bring something over to you?"
"No, thanks. I don't want a thing."
"We-ell, I guess I'll beat it then." Tim loitered uncertainly at the door. "I say, Donald, old scout, buck up, eh?"