The trio slipped off the fence and went their separate ways, but before they parted Stearns drew Allan aside.
“I say, Ware,” he said, “don’t say anything to any one about what—what you’ve heard. There’s no use in discouraging them, you know, and what I just said doesn’t amount to anything; I guess I’m feeling a bit nervous. You understand?”
But Allan, as he crossed the yard to College Hall, in the tower of which the bell was clanging its imperative summons, couldn’t help feeling apprehensive and worried. It was so unlike Stearns to admit even the possibility of defeat. On the steps Allan ran against Pete, big, smiling, and serenely satisfied with life.
“How’d you get on yesterday?” asked Allan, as they went in together.
“Oh, pretty middlin’,” said Pete, cheerfully. “I got within four inches of that cayuse of a Monroe.”
“But you’ll have to beat him if you expect to win over Robinson,” said Allan, anxiously.
“Oh, I’m not bothering about Robinson,” answered Pete. “If I can do up Monroe, that’s all I give a hang about!”
The next afternoon, Thursday, Stearns appeared at Allan’s room, looking excessively cheerful.
“Hello!” he said, as he sat down. “How are things?”