“You ought to have gone, Pete. He’ll raise thunder with you now; see if he don’t.”
“Oh, that’s all right; he can’t do any worse than expel me. And I’m getting pretty tired of this shop, anyway; there isn’t much doing. And now that I’ve got the table made up, all the excitement’s over with. I’ve thought all along I wouldn’t be here much after Christmas.”
“Oh, shut up that! Who’s going to run the table, if you go and get fired? And what do you suppose I’m going to do, you idiot?”
“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t care,” said Pete, sheepishly. But he seemed rather pleased when Allan threw Fernald’s Selections at his head.
“Well, maybe he’ll let me off easy this time; just suspend me, perhaps.”
“You’d better go and see him right away. But you can’t until to-morrow, now.”
“Oh, yes; I guess I’ll call at his house to-night.”
“He doesn’t like you to, they say,” cautioned Allan. “If I were you, I’d wait until morning.”
“No; better have it over with. I’ll drop around afterward and tell you about it. Coming to dinner?”
Allan pleaded study, and Pete took himself off.