“’Pologise!” grunted the under dog. “Sorry I—Oh, gee!” And, Blash arising from his prostrate form, Dick went off again into a paroxysm of laughter, while Stanley and Sid sank weakly onto the bench and wiped their eyes.
“Who did you get to do it?” asked Blash a few minutes later when they were making their way back to school. “Who was on the ’phone?”
“Rusty Crozier,” chuckled Dick.
“Rusty! And I didn’t recognise his voice! I guess, though, he put a pebble under his tongue or something.” Blash laughed. “Say, fellows, I’d have sworn he was a thousand miles away!”
“He—he stood away from the ’phone,” Dick explained.
“Oh!” Blash was silent a moment. Then: “I suppose you two silly pups were in on it,” he accused.
“I was,” acknowledged Stanley. “Dick and I hatched it up at supper. Sid didn’t know until you’d gone out to the telephone. Rusty went to the theatre first and found out what time the big picture was coming on. We passed him on Adams Street and I was afraid you’d see him and suspect something. But I guess you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t see him. Where did he telephone from, Stan?”
“The hotel, right across the street. He said he could watch you from there while he talked!”