“Stan! Does it—does it sound as if I’d—I’d done it?”
“N-no, only the election to the Banjo——”
“The High School Argus got that from The Leader, you idiot! I suppose the guy that wrote all this drivel found it in the Argus and just—just dilated on it.”
“Dilated is good,” chuckled Stanley. “Whoever he is, I’d say he delights to dilate. Well, cut it out and paste it in your scrap-book, Dick. It’ll interest your grandchildren some day.”
“Yes, I will!” declared Dick venomously. He seized the paper and tore it into shreds and then cast it from him into the general direction of the waste-basket. “Like fun!”
“When—er—that is, how many do you think there’ll be in the party, Dick?” asked Stanley innocently.
“What party?” Dick scowled his puzzlement.
“Why, the party that’s coming on to see you——”
But he didn’t finish, for Dick was on him like a whirlwind, the chair went over backward—Stanley accompanying it—and there was a rough time in Number 14 for the ensuing four minutes. At the end of that time Dick sat astride Stanley’s chest and demanded apologies, and Stanley, weak from laughing, gave in. “Just the same,” he added, wiping his eyes as he scrambled to his feet again, “just the same, Dick, I think you ought to make some sort of plans for their entertainment—All right! All right! I won’t open my mouth again! I was just thinking——”