“Oh, say, Allan!” Pete turned at the gate. “Remember those ducks we saw on the river last week? Well, let’s go after ’em Thursday morning, will you?”
“Shooting, you mean? I haven’t a gun.”
“You take my shot-gun and I’ll use the rifle. I’ve shot ducks with a rifle before this.”
“All right, Pete, but like as not the silly ducks won’t be there Thursday.”
“Well, we’ll find something to shoot, all right, if it’s just squirrels. We’ll have nothing to do Thursday, and can stay as long as we like; make a day of it. Maybe we can find some place to have dinner and won’t have to come back here. I’m getting mighty tired of commons, Allan. Well, it’ll be considerable different when we get the table started, won’t it?”
“I suppose so,” answered Allan.
“Say, do you think Hal or Tommy would go along?”
“Ducking? Tommy might, but Hal’s going to sign off and go home over Saturday.”
“Lucky chap!” sighed Pete. “Wish I was.” He looked thoughtfully across the leaf-strewn college yard. “Suppose I could, but—guess the old man would raise Cain. Allan!”