“I thought maybe you could tell by the feel of it,” answered Willard dryly. “Most folks can!”
“Funny, aren’t you?” Martin turned disgruntedly to the window, and after a moment Willard asked:
“Did you get to any classes?”
“Math,” grunted the other. “I was too sick for the rest of them. What time is it?”
“Nearly half-past. Coming along?”
“I don’t believe I want any dinner. What’s the use? It’ll just taste of—of those things!”
“Onions?” asked Willard innocently.
“Shut up! Don’t speak of ’em!” yelled Martin. “Now you’ve made me all squirmy again!” He sank to the window-seat, placed anxious hands on his waistcoat and glared at Willard accusingly. “I was feeling all right, too!”
“Well, how did I know you didn’t want me to say—”
“Cut it out, I tell you!”