Allan groaned and threw a handful of dried grass into Pete’s face. Pete brushed it aside and went on:
“When we get the table going, we’ll get Mother Pearson to give us apple-pie every night.”
“Yes, when you do!” growled Allan.
“Oh, that’s all right, my son. Just because the only fellow I’ve found wouldn’t join, you needn’t think that table isn’t going to be. Hal’s going to introduce me to Maitland and Van Something——”
“Van Sciver.”
“If you say so. And Cooper; and I’ll bet you a bunch of cows I get that table filled up inside of a week. Want to bet?”
“I don’t bet,” said Allan, aggravatingly. “Besides, if I were you, I’d go slow on betting until I’d paid for that dinner.”
“What dinner?”
“The one you wagered with Tommy.”